To Save Everyone
by Jillian W
Summary: STORY 1: The arrival of an unwelcome stranger forever alters the argument between brothers of who should live and who should die. Rewrite of the original 'You Want to Save Them All'
1. Foreword

Foreword:

'To Save Everyone' is a re-write of my first Trigun fanfic, 'You Want to Save Them All.' The original was not written well, and I would like to essentially fix what was wrong with it.

This is the first story in a series: story 2 is 'Disappointing Martyrs', and story 3 is 'Desert Garden'. 'Ugly Plant in the Big World' is a prequel I'm writing currently.

Some of this story will borrow from the original, some will be new, and hopefully it's more well-written, more believable, more entertaining tale than it first was.

As always, my story is post eps 26 and has heavy manga influences.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

~Jillian


	2. Fallen Woman

Men weren't meant to live here; they came to this planet by mistake. This harsh desert planet had been referred to by many nicknames, not least of which was Hell, but the one that stuck to become official was Gunsmoke. It was a romanticization of the Old West on an Earth so far away and long ago that not a soul remembered it beyond a legend. Gunsmoke was full of guns and fear. It was a place where you thought about surviving almost every day.

Life was difficult, impossible actually, without the help of the Lost Technology - the remains of the spaceships crashed there one and one half century earlier. You could only guess what the ships must have looked like, as only their skeletons remained. That, and a fraction of the power plants. Men could not survive long without being near a plant, for food, for water, for protection against the endless desert that could render anything to mere memory all too easily. People didn't remember much about how the plants worked, not anymore, but they knew they needed them, and when one of a town's plants failed, they knew there wasn't going to be enough for everyone. There wouldn't be enough food, enough water, not as much as before. You had to get rid of some of the people – that was the only logical option. And the simplest way to do that was to simply take them into the middle of the desert and leave them there.

This is why forty-six men, women, and children were walking the desert without supplies. The forty-seventh, she wasn't one of them, but there she was, leading the group across the wasteland. An elderly man was wearing her traveling cloak. Twelve men and women were in possession of her twelve canteens. The nutrition of the entirety her supplies coursed through the veins of the forty-six people. Sure, she volunteered her things to them, but she hadn't a choice and they all knew that.

Weary and with barely a trace of hope left to live, they walked day and night with little rest. They certainly couldn't go back to Westwood, and being on a far edge of civilization there were no settlements nearby. The water didn't last long, but the two suns never wavered in the cloudless sky, dooming them to suffer out there. Some of these people, they wailed and in their fear they said they wanted to just die out there, to end their misery, bellies empty and throats parched.

The crowd slowed their pace, sometimes several people stopped dead in their tracks, perhaps lying motionless on the ground awhile. But the woman up front, she didn't stop. Her pace was consistent, and she never looked back at them. She was always moving like she could see the oasis, could see the end. Each of the forty-six stared at her back for days, at her lithe form, her fine figure, her hair gold in the suns but white in the moons. They knew she was a professional woman from the way she dressed, corseted under a deep purple dress of two layers, open across the shoulders to reveal more of her back and her neck and her chest than a modest woman would display. It was obvious what she was, because she was a beautiful, confident woman traveling alone, when they found her, and there was enough else about her that wasn't normal.

When the village became apparent on the horizon upon the tenth setting of the second sun, everything changed. Wailing became uncontrollable laughter. Dragging feet skipped with energy across the ground. Everyone ran past the woman leading them, sprinting with all they had left toward Bering. Curious, the people of Bering came out of their homes, into the main street, watching the emigration. Names were called out, praises to God shouted. A few of the families began to hug Bering families, as they were related. The story was told hastily, and little detail was needed because the people of Bering knew such things could happen.

Excitement fell into exhaustion. The forty-two from Westwood were weak and sick. There were four less of them than there had been days ago – three elderly people and one toddler, not to mention the two miscarriages were the casualties of this exhile. People began to faint in the streets, into the arms of the people of Bering. Water came out, and those of Westwood drank with great haste as the folks of the very small village of Bering discussed what was to be done. Families who knew families would take their relatives in, of course, that was only right. The rest of the townsfolk spoke of storage areas and barn space, counting up the remaining refugees and reluctantly divvying up the bodies of the living. It wasn't said aloud, but some of the forty-two were soon going to die, probably, anyway.

The woman in purple sat away from everyone, having collected her canteens and pack and cloak from the sand where people had dropped them in their excitement. She was trying not to look at the water buckets, and the townsfolk were trying their best to ignore her. A kindly-looking older lady of Bering stepped over with a cupful of water, eyed her judiciously for a moment, and walked back to the huddle of Bering townsfolk to report her findings. "That girl is a whore."

"She's not from Westwood," a refugee chimed in, voice sandy and weak.

"Then she's not in need," a strapping Bering father of three reflected. "We've no place to put her and we can't have a loose woman in our homes."

A short, but rather commanding woman with cropped black hair glared at him. "That's heartless! Look at her, she's exhausted just the same!"

"Well, you're taking in the Xings, and none of us will have her. Unless _those_ two will take in-"

"Not possible," the woman interrupted. "They can't."

Someone barked out a laugh. "They'd rather have a young man, anyway." Others laughed.

"But mom, she gave us her water and she led us here, so..."

"Shush, son, you don't understand," replied the boy's weary mother as a man helped her to her feet and away to a home.

"Ridiculous," the small woman huffed.

"Meryl's right," added a larger, taller woman to her side. Sweetly, she suggested, "There's someplace we can find for her, since she helped them, isn't there?"

A wise old man of Bering shook his head. "Every attic, every shed, every shelter will be full tonight, young miss. Maybe somebody can spare a tent till she is on her way." Retiring for the night into a home that last night sheltered three but tonight would shelter seven, the old man shuffled away. "We don't want what she's selling in Bering."

Helping a man and woman up one per shoulder, the tall woman looked to Meryl with eyes still optimistic. "She's gonna have to stay with them, Meryl. It'll be ok."

"No it won't, Millie, no it won't," Meryl grumbled, walking over to the blond woman crumpled alone as the crowd dispersed. With each footfall she felt sick, wanted to turn away, but he wouldn't approve of that. It was a lose-lose situation, but to offer no help was always worse than to offer help mixed with trouble. Meryl stopped just near the woman, who stared at the small woman's moon-cast shadow. "I'll show you to where you can stay," she muttered reluctantly.

"Who with," the woman asked, voice rough and weak.

Meryl huffed. What did that matter to her? "The only ones who will take you in now. Two men. One's a very good friend of mine."

Knowing this description to be of the two gay men the townsfolk were going on about earlier, the woman carefully stood, and began to walk beside the smaller woman. Meryl watched her out of the corner of her eye, took in the details on her dress, the elaborate embroidery about parts of it, the fine complexion of her face. She wasn't fond of women prettier than her, so she was especially displeased at the moment. But nothing bothered her more than the horrible situation this was, to have her stay with them. With him.

They walked silently to the far edge of town and a little further. A small house of clay stood away from everything. The blond woman was clearly struggling to walk this far, and though Meryl felt instinctively that she oughtn't touch a loose woman, she allowed the stranger to lean against her as they walked the rest of the way to the cottage.

"Vash!" Meryl called out before they reached the stone steps and stood away from the home. "Vash, it's me!" Standing there in silence, Meryl's mind raced. The woman leaning against her was glancing around, apparently drinking in the details of her surroundings.

After a moment or two, the doorknob turned and a tall man with spiked blond hair stepped onto the porch, closed the door behind him, and wiped his hands on a washcloth as he approached them. "Meryl, what's going on?"

Meryl summarized the events of the evening as Vash moved forward to assist with the increasingly dead weight of the wanderer. "Listen, I've got to go help Millie with the family we took in. I'm sorry, nobody else would take her, on account of she's a, um, a prostitute."

The woman leaned away and fell upon her knees, facing the side of the house. The canteens hanging from her pack clanged together as she squinted to see what she thought shouldn't be there.

"How horrible, thats – that's awful," Vash commented about the tragedy of the exile, and let loose a plaintive sigh. "I'll take her in; what's her name?" He didn't sound any more enthusiastic about taking her in than the townsfolk had been, but there was certainly sympathy in his voice.

"I don't know, I didn't ask her."

"Is that a garden?" the woman squeaked out. "A...a garden?"

He reached for her elbow to help lift her to her feet, but the woman jerked away from him. Trying again, he was stronger than her, and upon bringing her to her feet, she promptly lost consciousness. Vash hoisted her into his arms to carry her into his home. "Goodnight, Meryl," he called out softly over his shoulder.

Meryl had already begun to walk away, but she waved. She thought to say, good luck, or to apologize again. "Goodnight, Vash," she replied instead.


	3. Samaritan

Waking abruptly on what felt like a couch, late day, she was hot from the blanket about her. She made no move to lift it because she pretended to be asleep still. Her hair still covered her ears, pinned into place as it should be, her clothing was still about her, undisturbed. Muffled voices were in another room shut off, and she was alone, so finally she stirred.

Her body ached and her arms shook as she righted herself to a seated position in this room. It was a small living space, with a kitchen in the corner, and an amateur drawing of a tree on the wall. There was a tray on the floor near her, with a pitcher of water, a glass, and a stale sandwich wrapped in cloth. She coughed down the water straight from the pitcher, but could not bring herself to eat. Next, she found her pack and canteens on an end table there, and she reached within her pack to check that all of her things were there.

When the sound of a doorknob turning alerted her, she quickly fell back to laying on the couch as though unconscious. She listened as the man walked on bare feet toward her and stood by her silently. He held a hand near her nose, testing her breath. Finally, he picked up the tray and walked away from her. After shuffling around the kitchen area, he set down a refilled pitcher.

Crouching there, he cleared his throat. "Miss, I'm Vash. If you can hear me...when you feel up to it we can introduce ourselves. Make yourself to home." Waiting for a response, he watched her.

Peeking over the edge of the blanket, she saw his expression, concerned and gentle. He was a very attractive man, with yellow-colored hair and bright eyes. "I'm Vanessa. Thanks to you and your partner for your kindness."

"Partner. Huh." He scratched at the back of his hair. "You mean, like, we swing the other way?"

"I don't presume to judge," she responded.

"He's my brother."

She thought for a moment, finally repeating, "I don't presume to judge."

"Ha, no. No, we're brothers, that's all. People think what they do; we don't leave the house much. _He_ doesn't at all, doesn't like being around people." He smiled. "Long story."

Slowly propping herself up against the armrest, she felt the urge to urinate come to her attention. "I'm not what they think I am, either. I'm not not sure why they thought I was a prostitute." Glancing down a small hallway, she wondered where their restroom might be, but she then noticed he was staring at her rather seriously all of the sudden. She stared back, and his eyes shifted from her eye to the other and back. He reached his hand toward her face and she jerked away. "Don't touch me," she snapped.

He looked surprised, hurt even, but did not attempt it again. "You're dehydrated; I can tell from your eyes. Drink more?"

"I, um, where's your restroom?" she asked, taking a deep breath to calm herself. She shouldered her pack and followed the direction he pointed toward, down the hall, but she had some difficulty finding her balance.

Vash waited before offering his arm to her, his left, which she noticed wore a black glove and black straps up to his sleeve.

She took his gloved hand, which she thought might be a prosthetic until she touched it and knew nothing that felt so real could be made. Her free hand grasped at the book fastened to her hip by a wide belt, feeling its edges to assure herself it was there and all was as it should be. Allowing him to help her shuffle to the small room, she made certain to lock the door between them before going about her needs.

Pivoting, Vash met eyes with a man nearly identical to himself, standing within the bedroom across the hall with arms folded, looking unhappy with the situation. "Didn't we agree," he whispered in a hiss, "None of _them_!?"

"Sorry, couldn't be helped," Vash whispered back. So she could hear him, too, he called out louder, "I'll start on dinner."

"I've no appetite, sorry," she called back.

"How about that, neither have I," his brother sneered, turning to sit on his bed with a book. "Shut the door."

Vash fixed a meal anyway, brought his brother some, which he indeed did eat, albeit alone. Vanessa returned from bathing and such, dressed in dark, cool gray tones instead of the earlier purple, and she lay back, weary, upon the couch and fell asleep again. Vash sat across the room from her, observing, falling asleep in the chair, observing more, making breakfast and carrying some to his brother again. She rustled in the afternoon the next day, rising unsteadily to go to the restroom, then back to sit, trembling, on the sofa. Wordlessly, he brought her water, and prepared her some food as she gulped it down.

"Thank you, I think I can eat now," she murmured, accepting some cheese and bread with shaking hands.

A door opened, and his brother came into the room with a sour expression, holding a book open as though reading it while he walked. He was a twin of Vash, with shorter, lighter hair but the same in height and features. "You forgot lunch," he grumbled without looking up from his book at all.

"Knives, Vanessa. Vanessa, this is my brother."

Breathing rather hard after swallowing the dry food, Vanessa bowed slightly. "Thank you for everything. Knives. That's a unique nickname."

"It's not a nickname," he growled back, moving quickly as he'd arrived, back to the room with a jar of something and a loaf of bread under his arm.

As the bedroom door latched shut, a familiar voice called from outside, "Vash! It's me!"

Vash moved to the front door and swung it open. "Hi, Meryl, I-" Stopping and thinking for a moment, he turned smiling to Vanessa. "Could you come outside with us?"

It was a strange request, but she did as asked, seating herself in one of several chairs under the covered porch area. Possessing very keen hearing, she could overhear every word as Meryl and Vash updated each other on the wanderer situation, how she and Millie had been busy tending to the ill health of those who'd nearly doubled the village's population overnight. Another old man died. The village hadn't a doctor and hadn't the money to ask one from another town to come out.

"Oh, another thing, I don't know if you've met Lynn, the Greysons' girl?" Meryl gestured behind her to a serious looking teenage girl clutching a reporter's notebook to her chest. She had been staring over her shoulder at the homes of the main of town, looking worried to be far from them.

"I haven't yet," Vash responded, smiling very warmly and extending his hand in greeting.

Lynn did not take it, though, because she did not want to shake the hand of a homosexual, since she believed homosexuals were evil. "Nice to meet you, sir."

"Well, she's here to interview Vanessa, and-"

Vanessa perked up. "Why...?"

"I hear you led those people here, though they're not your folk, and want to take your story down," Lynn responded, curious to meet a prostitute but not wanting to shake her hand either. Luckily, Vanessa did not offer her hand, anyway.

"I'd rather not-"

"You're a hero, you know," Meryl interjected with gravity. "They'd all be dead if it wasn't for you; forty-some people owe you their lives, and if they aren't going to thank you, I want to. And Lynn here wants to get your story."

Vanessa got the impression that people did what Meryl wanted, that she was the type of person not only to not take 'no' for an answer but rather one who can't hear them say 'no' at all. She watched Lynn take the seat near her, flip open her pad.

Meryl stepped away with Vash, and continued their conversation as the interview went on. They were old friends, and you could tell by the ease of their words, by the concern they had for one another. Meryl seemed particularly concerned about Vash. "Is everything ok? Is he...should we ask her to go?"

"He's not happy. But I think it'll be alright. I've got my eye on one or the other of them at all times," Vash explained, glancing at the house and back. "She'll be safe."

Meryl nodded. She didn't really believe that but, again, what other choice was there?

Lynn filled several pages with notes and thanked Vanessa, bowing slightly. Vash stopped abruptly mid sentence and just smiled. He waved as Lynn walked briskly away, then began to jog back into the main of town, as though she couldn't wait to get away.

"I've got to go now, too," Meryl sighed. "Wish I knew more about medicine, but at least I can help make them comfortable."

The two said their goodbyes, and when Vash turned back to the house, Vanessa's chair was empty. His heart sunk suddenly and he twisted to see where she'd gone. Back inside? He ran around the house to the back entry, and from there he could see she was in the garden. Greatly relieved, he walked to her, hands thrust in pockets. "There you are."

"So it was real; I thought I was hallucinating," she murmured, crouching beside a row of adolescent corn. "You're growing plants...I can't recall the last time I saw green like this..." She glanced about, at the little plot with rows of various things, and a small sapling tree below a window. In the window, Knives was staring at her. Their eyes met and he made haste to disappear from sight. In a moment, the back door opened, and though Knives was hidden from sight in the entryway, he called out, "Vash, it's time to work in the garden now," his tone very serious and rather urgent.

Vash brushed his hands together. "Let's get you back inside, to rest more."

Vanessa nodded and was led by Vash back to the front entry. From the corner of her eye she saw Knives step out into the sunlight and approach the garden, face very stern. She was very confused but didn't ask questions – being ushered around like this was making her itch to leave this place, but she was still so weary and sick. Falling back onto the couch felt wonderful, and she gratefully held the blanket under her chin. At first, she rested and almost slept, but nausea hit her and she rushed to the restroom to vomit. Sitting near the stool for a while, dry heaving a dozen times, she wiped sweat from her brow. After a moment, she took her pulse, felt at the glands in her neck, took several deep breaths, and stood to examine her eyes, skin tone, and the back of her throat in the mirror. Dehydrated, she noted, and she knew she'd need several more days to save up enough strength to leave this town for the nearest. Finally leaving the restroom, she moved to the kitchen window, the one above the sapling tree, and watched as the brothers knelt over their plant life. Their hands moved gently amongst the rows, tending them, cupping water from a bucket and sprinkling it around them.

She leaned against the counter of the kitchen while she gulped down several cups of water, more out of medical need than from want to. Staring at the couch, she felt she couldn't fall asleep, as the nausea still gripped her. It would be nice to have something to occupy her.

Knives had a book, she had seen one once – perhaps there were more. Oh, it would be nice to have a book to read, she thought, opening the door to the the twins' bedroom.

The room was small, with a bed on either side, and a table in the middle which held a large stack of books, notepads, and some plates and remains of food. It was a clean room besides, but along the wall of one of the beds there were papers of scrawled writing and sketches pinned up all over. Diagrams, tables of information, all in a cursive style she found hard to read. Touching the spines of the books in the stack there, she wondered whether to read poems, or about astronomy. There was one novel at the bottom but she'd already read that one years and years ago and had no interest in it again. Finally deciding upon one about native species of Gunsmoke, she tucked it under her arm and, before leaving, thought she would take a look at the sketches upon the wall.

The text was too hard to make out, but the drawings weren't all unclear. The artist was not very good, true, but rather science-minded. One large page in particular drew her attention, of a lightbulb. Well, no, it wasn't a lightbulb; she recognized the ship wreckage near it, this was a plant bulb – sort of a giant lightbulb. It was not as well-detailed as it could be, probably drawn from memory alone. But instead of it looking like a plant does, the core wasn't spherical, and the bulb wasn't calm. There was an angel of some sort drawn inside, a woman with tendrils and feathered wings, small extra limbs and the like sticking out behind her toward where the core should be.

Vanessa blacked out partially, catching herself on the bedpost as her vision went black and her ears buzzed loudly. It passed, and her head hummed hard from it, leaving her with a very bad headache. The book had dropped to the floor, and she stooped to grab it. Shaken, confused, she went back to her couch, wanting suddenly to leave their room and feeling as though she shouldn't have entered.

Everybody knew plants just looked like big lightbulbs with a glowing, round core inside. To have seen a plant with the core unfurled enough to tell there was a woman inside – she had seen that before but most people hadn't.


	4. A Book and A Baby

When the second sun set, there was no light left to work to, and the laborers of Bering came back into their homes to their families and to the wanderer families as well. So, too, did the brothers at the edge of the village, the two everyone confused for lovers, and that kept them away well enough.

It was best, that people kept away from them – from Knives – and it was a compromise the brothers had made to each other weeks earlier. "Give me a chance," Vash had asked of his brother, "then maybe you'll give them a chance, too." Knives owed him that much, he agreed, and they'd settled there. Vash was lucky to have friends like Millie and Meryl, who were funding the brothers' existence from their savings. After all, Vash couldn't leave the house, and it wasn't possible for him to earn a living from the little clay house, save a few coins here and there selling tiny seedlings.

Unfortunately for the compromise the brothers had struck, the situation was complicated by the arrival of the wanderers and the arrival of one in particular.

Vanessa heard movement at the back entry and slid Knives' book under the blankets beside her on the couch, lest he see that she had borrowed it without asking. He surely wouldn't appreciate it if he knew, but she could read it in secret and slip it back into his stack of books without him ever noticing. She heard Knives' footsteps, which she could tell from Vash's footsteps, and she heard Knives close the bathroom door behind himself.

Vash's steps took him toward her, so she pulled out her own book, the one she kept at her side, holstered, like a gunman keeps his piece. Casually, she looked up from her book and smiled very slightly in silent greeting. He was holding a small white cup, and a small green stem with leaves growing from it. "It's a pea, about to bloom," he explained, setting it in the center of the little dining table several feet out from the sofa. Then, he went about preparing the evening meal.

Down the hall from them, Knives came out from the bathroom and went to change into clean clothing. He heard the sounds of food preparation, and became angry at the thought of having to take another meal in the bedroom. She was a terrible disruption, not least of which because he did not want to sup with her. But to change his routine because of her, that was not fair to him! No, he would eat at the table that night, and hopefully she wouldn't disgust him so much that he wouldn't be able to enjoy himself. His stride full of confidence and purpose, he went to a chair at the table, facing his brother yet still able to see her easily at his left. His brother's face was full of worry about what he'd do next, but he acknowledged him calmly, and began staring at her from the side.

Vanessa looked down at her book, self-conscious. She leafed through the pages, each with a line drawing-diagram of great complexity, much like the designs of embroidery on parts of her dress, but she could feel his eyes on her. A couple of times she glanced up only slightly, to see his expression. From that, she could glean plenty. He had the eyes, the stare, the countenance of a man who hated her for what she was, for being a woman. Many men do, she knew, and this man was like any of them, just wanting to display his dominance, his superiority. She had nothing to gain from raging against that. There was nothing to fear yet, and again the thought of the drawing of the plant and the angel came to her and drew blood from her face.

Nervous but hiding it well, Vash set two pots to boil and stepped to Vanessa, craning over to see what she was reading.

"Um," she started, feeling she would have to explain what was on these textless pages, "This is a book of drawings. I think they're pleasant."

"Never seen any like that before. Kind of interesting – Knives would you like to see?"

Vanessa gritted her teeth – she certainly did not want her book leaving her hands for a moment – but it didn't matter anyhow because Knives was supremely disinterested in whatever filth she had on paper.

"Miss Vanessa, please help – please help my daughter, Miss!!" The voice came from outside, in the dark, so unfamiliar and desperate. "Oh, God, please!!"

Vash rushed to the door and threw it open, but Knives didn't flinch, still staring at her indirectly. Vanessa holstered her thick book and stepped to the door. "What's the matter?" Vash was asking.

The two men fell to their knees in the sand outside, and a little girl behind them followed in suit awkwardly. "Oh, please, Miss Vanessa," the older man begged, "My daughter, please help her! In the paper, we read you're a nurse. I'm sorry we thought you were – we didn't know, forgive us, Miss Vanessa. Please...please come help her, she's going to die and we can't get help in time!"

Vash glanced over at her as she thought out the situation. So, she was a nurse?

"Let me get my kit," she responded finally, walking in to grab a weathered medical bag from her pack. Vanessa stepped down into the sandy way and followed the anxious men and girl back into the main of town, trying to keep up as she was exhausted still, herself.

Vash watched her go, then finally turned back inside the house and wondered if Knives was happy she was gone – he assumed he was.

The man's daughter was in labor but could not give birth naturally due to a defect of her pelvis, and needed surgery desperately. A young nurse shouldn't have been capable of saving her, but Vanessa did, with a skilled hand. There was no time to sedate the woman, who was already in a great deal of pain, but she cut her open and instructed the husband how to massage and coax the baby into crying, while she very quickly flushed the incision with clear water and alcohol, and sewed up the uterus and the incision. It was difficult work that Vanessa made look easy, because she had done this before.

Waiting outside the family's home was a small crowd of others who needed to be checked out, and they asked her, please Miss, please? Looking down and nodding, yes, she used the living area of the family as a clinic room that night to check and advise a dozen or so, with promises to call on the remainder the next day. Because it was customary to pay for such services, those she saw pressed a coin or two into her palm, and the family of the newborn bowed to the floor when she left, offering a small bundle of bills in thanks.

Meanwhile, Vash cleaned up after dinner and Knives sat writing at the table. They had spoken little since Vanessa left, and had not spoken much except to argue about the girl's presence since she arrived. Before the girl came, the brothers talked every day about a great many things, very important things, but until she left there would be no more of that.

Vash kept himself busy in the kitchen, finding things to clean and organize when he had finished with what actually needed doing. He checked her meal that sat to warm on the iron stove, that it wasn't drying out too badly under the cloth, and worried some when she hadn't returned yet. When Knives finally retired for the night, Vash continued pretending to be busy for a while longer, checked out the window again, but she was away still. Somehow he knew she had managed to save a life – two lives, including the child – that night, and he wondered how the village had come upon that kind of luck, how the wanderers' luck had led them to her in the wasteland in the first place. When he next saw Meryl, he'd ask for a copy of the newspaper article Lynn must have written, about the stranger Vanessa.

It was late, and he felt it best to go off to bed, leaving her a note on the couch telling her where to find her food when she returned. Closing the bedroom door behind him, Vash went to his bed and heard Knives latch and lock it as Knives liked to do.

"When is she leaving?" Knives asked. "I can't stand this any more."

Sighing quietly, Vash pulled off his boots and rested on the edge of his bed, rubbing his temples. "I don't know. But if she's a nurse, the town will need her to stay a while longer."

"I don't care, I want her gone." He pointed back at his stack of books. "She stole one of my books - she came _into_ our _room_."

"Knives," Vash began, "She didn't know better, I'm sorry. I'm sure she only borrowed it. Please be patient, she's important. She's a healer. We need healers, too."

"When we're stupid enough to let them near us," Knives sneered in reply.

"Remember that time you fell down the dune and broke your arm? A doctor fixed that for you. I couldn't. We need her, too; if we can just find another place for her soon, then-"

Knives grabbed his brother by the collar and brought him back to his feet. There was a blade in his left hand, but no handle, because the blade was coming from Knives' left wrist. It glowed, and the air crackled slightly, causing the skin on Vash's side to tingle and crackle like the air. "This angers me. Greatly. This is a violation of our agreement. Every day of this, I am controlling myself. I'm putting up with this insult, for you, but I am _extremely_ angry."

"I see that," Vash replied, wondering if he should fight back. "I'm sorry. She's going to leave, I promise. Please give it a day or two more."

"Do you want me to vent my anger on her, or on you?" Knives asked, teeth grinding.

"Me," Vash answered immediately, certain there wouldn't be a third option.

The blade slide easily into Vash's side. It then retracted too fast to see, into Knives' wrist, leaving a small line of Vash's blood on Knives' unbroken flesh. Tightening his grip on Vash's collar for a moment more, taking in his brother's pained expression, Knives felt satisfied enough, and let go to turn to his own bed. He curled up and slept, ignoring his brother as he went off to bandage himself up before retiring carefully to bed.

That could have gone worse.


	5. What I'll Do to Her

"I'm sorry, I was trying to be quiet," Vash apologized, from the kitchen, when he saw her bundled form stir on the couch. It was late morning and he had come in to get his brother food. "You must be tired from being out all night. How did that go?"

Groggy from only a few hours' sleep, Vanessa lifted herself upon her feet. "Everyone will be ok, if that's what you mean," she answered, excusing herself to the restroom for a few moments. When she returned, she wore her other dress, purple, and her hair was pinned up more neatly. "My work's not yet done. I'll be making more house calls today."

Vash nodded, smiling, and begun to wrap up breakfast in a cloth for her to take. "You know, you're a savior to these people. People don't always say it, say thank you, but you saved them out there. You're saving them again, and that woman last night, and her baby."

"Hm," she mumbled, grabbing the handle of her old, beaten medicine bag. She hadn't thought of it that way, hadn't been called a 'savior' before. Adding to her kit the bundle of food, she noticed the growing red stain on the stomach of Vash's white shirt.

He followed her gaze and quickly excused it. "Fell on a trowel outside, that's all. Must've opened up. I'll be ok."

"Let me take a look," she offered, as she had offered to many before.

Leaning back against the countertop, Vash lifted his shirt only enough to show the wound, and he pulled away the soaked bandage he'd applied before. He opened his mouth to say he just needed a fresh bandage and he'd be fine, she should go, but she was already pulling up a chair and opening her kit on her lap.

She frowned at his two-inch laceration. This was obviously caused by a knife, not a garden implement. The cut was too clean. Touching the sides to inspect the depth, her fingers met scarring – extensive scarring. He had the skin of a man who'd been in many, many fights - fights such as the one that had to have caused this. Perhaps he went out drinking at the village saloon when she was out tending to the weary and ill the night before. "You're lucky," she said as she inspected, then blotted with alcohol. "It's clean and it missed anything important." Vanessa would not say anything about his trowel lie, because a doctor did not question such things.

Vash continued to hold his shirt away from the wound in one hand and grip the edge of the counter with the other. He set his jaw, but otherwise stood serenely still as she packed disinfectant paste into the wound and stitched it shut with a wire. Obviously, he'd felt stitches before. Many times before. Upon her snip of the last stitch, he thanked her.

While Vanessa rinsed the blood from her fingers in the kitchen basin, Vash inspected his side. It was good work, the work of an experienced doctor more so than of a young nurse. The people of Bering could certainly use her talent. He hoped she would stay, for the good of the townsfolk, but hoped she wouldn't stay with them.

When she left for town that morning, she guessed she'd miss dinner, and she almost did. The brothers sat finishing their meal when their front door creaked open that evening. She seated herself at the third place setting and began to load up her plate, pace of breath slowing. Knives stared into his brother's eyes, to prompt him to command her departure, as Knives had demanded a few moments before she arrived. So, Vash asked her how things had gone in town, because he couldn't just start out by saying, 'leave, now.'

Vanessa obliged, and between bites of Vash's cooking she recounted the long day's events.

"Do you know what I'll do to her if she stays?"

Vash's brows went up, shocked, but he quickly realized that was something Knives said not aloud, but to his mind. The twins could do this, could speak to one another in their minds. Vash preferred to speak aloud, but Knives used this bond sometimes to torment his poor brother.

"She's lovely, I admit that," Knives' thoughts spoke to him, as Knives sat as though listening to the stories of Vanessa's patients. "I think I'd like to have her. You want me to try new things; bedding a human may be my first step to seeing things your way. What a lovely set of-"

Clearing his throat, Vash kept his eyes fixed on Vanessa while she spoke, trying all he could to keep the gentle smile pasted on his face. "And did you see Meryl or Millie at all?" he asked her.

She responded, yes, and delivered the greeting and updates of various sorts that the girls had asked her to pass along to Vash, who appeared to listen intently.

"-under that fabric. She looks enough like one of us, it wouldn't be too disgusting. Pull that pale hair down, get to more of that smooth skin. Do you think she would cry out? Scream? When I-"

Not able to keep his sight on her while hearing this in his head, Vash looked down at his empty plate.

"-until she begs to end it. I'll have her the first few times, break her in for you to have a turn, then-"

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

Vash jolted to attention at that, coughing in surprise. "Leaving? Tomorrow?"

"Thank you again, for the hospitality. I need to leave. I've got some money now, I can pay you for your help, and I'll get supplies and be gone by afternoon." She scooped the last forkful of pasta into her mouth and glanced at their somehow relieved expressions. "Before I leave, I was curious...I noticed the drawings up; are those yours?"

"Knives'," Vash corrected, letting out a long breath.

"They're lovely," she complimented politely, "particularly the one of the plant. Not the tree – the power plant, the one with the angel inside?"

Vash cleared his throat and filled his hands with dishes to clear the table. "He has quite an imagination. I'll clean out your canteens for you tonight, so you'll be ready to leave, then."

"Well, I was hoping," she went on, "I really am curious about plants and the way that drawing looked, I thought you might...If you don't mind, Knives, if I could pick your brain about them-"

"You want to know about the plants," Knives began through gritted teeth. "You-"

"Oh, there's nothing to talk about, really," Vash interrupted again, pulling Vanessa's chair back so that she would leave the table. "Go take a long bath, and we'll all get to sleep early, since you have a long journey ahead of you, I'm sure."

Knives abruptly left for the bedroom and shut the door. His face was red.

Vanessa watched him storm away before rising from her chair. "I rarely meet someone with knowledge of the plants, can't we-"

"There's nothing to say," Vash snapped, noticing her startle when he did. Still trying to smile, Vash gathered her canteens in his arms and dropped them into the sink to scrub and fill. "Sorry your stay wasn't on better terms," he called over his shoulder as she took her book from her hip. "Maybe one day you'll be back this way, you can tell me your story."

"Maybe," she mumbled back, staring down at a page in her book, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Vash suddenly felt very tired, and he braced his hands against the sink basin. "You'll have to...you'll have to forgive us, we're, we're..." His knees buckled and he slumped down to the floor.

She put her book away, stood, and stepped into the bedroom. "I hope you don't mind," she started, "I've always been interested in plants, and your drawing, it-"

"Where's Vash," Knives murmured from where he lay on his bed, without raising his eyes from his book, as she stepped to his drawings.

"Cleaning canteens. And he doesn't seem to care, so I thought-"

"He just...let you come in here."

She paused. "So, you've seen a plant...like this?"

"Interesting, Vash, very interesting." Knives closed his book.

Vanessa's gaze was fixed on the drawing. "I saw an angel in a bulb once, too. But I shouldn't disturb you, I'll just go."

"Oh, no, sit, I insist. Have a seat. You want to know about plants, hmm? It's a secret, but I know more about plants than anyone. For years I studied them, their wings, their black eyes, their bodies bursting with life and limb and parts of their children at their spine. Due to conditioning they require a sort of life support system, which-"

"But if one were to have a child, how would it survive?"

Knives stopped, aghast.

"I...I mean I'd heard that sometimes they have children, but since the bulb..." Vanessa cut short her enthusiasm on the topic, feeling she may have gone too far. "If that could happen, I suppose everyone would know already anyway; or it'd be cut up and studied for science. I would imagine."

Hands folded, Knives swung his legs over the edge of his bed, across from her, then he gripped the edge of it, squeezing to ground himself. "What if I told you I'd seen a plant child before?"

"You...you have?" she squeaked. "What became of her?"

"He," Knives corrected, calming his breath and studying her expression as they spoke. "He got away from the scientists, and was mistaken for a human."

Her forehead creased in thought. "I'm not sure he was a plant child, then."

"Oh?" Knives responded, one brow raised. "Do you think they'd have wings, or something?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Vanessa said dismissively, breaking eye contact for a telling moment. "And anyway, what good would a freakish creature like that b-"

Rushing forward, Knives' right hand flew at her throat, throwing her back on the bed, back hitting the wall. Her hands pried at his fingers, but he'd knocked the wind out of her and she had hardly any strength in her to struggle. Eyeing the open door, she kicked at him but he was already between her knees, pressing himself forward, against her. The layers of her dress fell up her leg partway.

Gesturing toward the entryway with his free, left hand, Knives grinned. "The moment you stepped in this room, he knew this would happen. Disrobe. Now."


	6. Saving Skin

Gasping against Knives' grip, Vanessa pressed her knee against his chest, but he easily pushed her leg aside and held a knife up in front of her face. He was waiting for his brother to rush in, waiting for this girl to cry out, and for Vash to play the hero. But there was none of that, so Knives continued. "Dis. Robe."

Shutting her eyes, she reached behind her to unlatch the clasps at the back of her dress, which fell partially away to reveal the darker under-dress. Her spine ached against the wall, tender.

"Let your hair down, as well," he demanded, voice low and quiet. It surprised him, how much he was looking forward to this. Their eyes met for a second before the blade of the knife flashed between them again.

Staring at the light glinting off the surface of the blade, she complied, pulling each of the thick pins from her hair. It fell in braids, which unraveled softly upon her shoulders. She noticed the blade had no hilt, he was holding it with bare hands, but it wasn't cutting his flesh. And it was night, and the room was dimly lit, so the light glinting off the blade had no discernible source. It was glowing. Her eyes widened, prompting him to grin, and open his free palm so she could see that it wasn't a knife.

He felt her flesh freeze, and his grip loosened. Snaking his hand up her neck, along her jaw, he stared into her wide, frightened eyes, her mouth open. His finger traced up the side of her ear, through her soft hair. But it didn't feel right, so he lifted the hair up, away, and saw that her ear was elongated, pointed, and not like his own or anyone's. "What's this?" he murmured to himself, studying the ear for a moment before his gaze came back to her expression.

She was trembling, lip twitching, mouth was open partway, eyes wide and glazing over. Vanessa was wondering if this was what dying felt like, if she had been stabbed and was dying already. Her head pounded, and a severe ache ran through her spine. The ache grew, and crescendoed into a pain such that she did not remember feeling before, making her shoulders tighten and her lips draw back against gritted teeth.

The teeth, he saw them, too. Except those in the front rows in her mouth, he saw very sharp, uniformly shaped eyeteeth. Even with these strange features, she was indeed beautiful. Drawing away the blades from his hand and instead stretching his blades out in curves from his shoulder toward her face, he forced her down on the bed. Her back left a large smear of blood across the wall on her way to the sheets. He hadn't thought he'd been that rough. Oh, well, he thought, as he unlatched the buckles on her leather wrist cuffs and tugged the pillowcase away from the pillow,

She opened her mouth and moved her jaw to speak several times before the words came out. "What...are you?"

He looked down at her from knotting and tying her bare wrists to the post of the bed with the pillowcase. She was looking right in his eyes, not dumbly focused on his weapon anymore, her hair haloing out from her head and pointed ears. He took a moment while pulling off the sliced remains of his shirt to reflect on her question, which she asked with less shock than he'd expected. "I'm an angel," he responded simply, sliding his hand up her skirts as he leaned over her.

"Then you wouldn't want me – I'm a demon," she responded with equaled simplicity. She'd been called a demon so many times before, it would be nice if that saved her from trouble this time instead of causing it. But he chuckled a little, so she added a detail she had never said aloud before, "I'm a hundred-year-old demon."

He laughed as though that was funny, somehow.

"I'm from a bulb; I was born in one!" she cried out, "I'll tell you more about plants if you stop, I promise; you don't want me; I'll tell you, just stop!"

"So, you're a plant," he said into her ear with hot breath. "Then, you grew to adolescence after forty years."

"No, one," she corrected, "One-ish!"

Lucky guess, probably. Just to check, he threw out another trick. "Let me see your stomach – you shouldn't have a navel since plants don't have umbilical cords, so-"

"There was no cord, but I do..."

Knives sat back, staring down at her, deeply confused. As his blades receded into him, he ran his hand along the curves of her chest, above her under-dress. He felt urge give way to the gravity of the situation. He'd spent much of his life wondering if there were plants out there whom he simply hadn't yet met. But, how to be sure?

Locking his eyes with hers, he tried to speak to her mind like he did with his brother, telling her some deeply disturbing things, but he could tell from her expression that she hadn't heard a thing. Perhaps that was something only twins could do.

"Vash!" Knives called out, "Vash, come here! Now!" Waiting, he heard nothing. The door was open, and he didn't hear the clinking of canteens in a sink. But then, he hadn't in the first place, and though he hadn't cared before, he did at that point.

"Vash!" he repeated, walking out into the main area of the house, and he found his brother slumped down on the floor. He shook him with no luck and, with growing concern, he carried his twin to the unoccupied bed, stopping only to lock the bedroom door. Ignoring as Vanessa pulled herself upon her knees and tugged at the knots holding her there, Knives turned the lamp up to high. Something was wrong with Vash – no blood, no wounds, but something was wrong. "What did you do to him?" Knives asked her, while pressing his left hand over his brother's face.

Vanessa felt a sudden pressure in the room, that dissipated quickly, at the moment that Vash sat up, alert. He choked out, "Don't _do_ that! Dammit..."

"How easily can someone just...knock you out?" Knives asked seriously.

"What are you talking about – I fell asleep," Vash mumbled, eyes squinting against the bright lamplight. He laid back onto the bed. "Why'd you do that?"

"You were laying on the floor in there; I had to, to wake you," Knives explained, eyes narrowed seriously. "You wouldn't come to. You don't remember what she did to you?"

"She...?" Vash couldn't remember anything beyond standing at the sink, but he felt groggy from sleep, so he closed his eyes. He vaguely wondered why he was lying in his brother's bed instead of his own. "Vanessa didn't do anything. She's leaving soon; leave it alone."

"She's not going anywhere."

"Huh?" Vash responded, turning toward his brother, but instead of seeing Knives' head upon the pillow he saw a girl crouching there. Vash jumped to attention, on his feet, only just realizing the situation. Eyes wide, then angry, he saw a bloodstain on a white wall and a white sheet, a crouching figure half-clothed, white rope around purple wrists at the head of the bed while Knives sat solemn at the end, legs crossed casually. Vanessa's face was white and she looked to Vash, asking, "Are you like him?"

"Knives," Vash demanded, "I'll stop you if you don't stop yourself."

"I've already stopped. Paused. But no one's leaving. Not yet. She's asking if you're the same as me, if you're an angel as well? We are brothers, so the answer would be a rousing, yes."

Vash was busy trying to untie her hands, though the knots in the cloth were not giving way. In a flash of motion the eye could barely catch, one of Knives' blades jumped out in an instant to slice the center of the knots, and the bonds fell away. Vash saw blood smeared, drying on her back. He began to notice the scars, deep ones and faint ones, on her exposed arms and back, but she flattened herself against the wall from him, swollen hands pushing her skirts back over her legs to cover the scars which Vash could see there as well.

Knives only just noticed the scars on her, as well, and added them to the short list of reasons he had to believe her claim. "Tell my brother what you told me," he commanded.

"I'm sorry," Vash muttered to her before glaring up at his twin. "How could you?"

"You knew what I wanted. Her coming in here; I saw that as your acceptance of my plans," Knives responded.

"I didn't see her come in...I don't know what happened, but I would never...Are you a man or an animal!?"

"Neither, obviously. Tell him. _Now_."

Vanessa's heart pounded, mind scouring for a way to escape but finding none save to speak. Locked in a windowless room with two monsters of some sort, without her book, she knew she stood no chance otherwise. She took a deep breath and rubbed her wrists together, looking away from them. "I told him...that...I am...a demon."


	7. Stuck

Unsure whether to play her claim to be demonic as a lie or a truth, Vanessa waited to see Vash's reaction before choosing.

"A demon!? Knives, cut this out, let her go before-"

"And she said she's a century old. Look," Knives interrupted, rushing at her again, to grasp her jaw from the side, her head already pressed against the wall where she could not fight it. He brushed away her hair enough to show her ear, then the other ear, and he pulled her lips away at the side to show her clenched back teeth. "Look at this."

"Don't touch her!" Vash grabbed his brother around the ribcage and yanked him back, and he stood rigid between Vanessa and his brother. He saw the pointed ears, the sharp teeth, and he saw the fear in her eyes. He only cared about the fear.

"Listen to me," Knives demanded. "I think she's telling the truth; though her categorization of her species is...archaic. I have to know. If you think she's just a _human_-" he added, spitting out the word 'human' as though it were a foul-tasting thing, "-prove it to my satisfaction. You see the blood? Remember July?"

Vash winced at the mention. He wished he didn't remember that. In the city of July his brother kept him captive and studied him and finally forced him to call upon his 'angel arm', as Knives called it, but before it was a weapon it was the skin on his arm splitting open and strange things coming out of him, and there was blood. Then, it became a weapon, cannon-like, and in his anger and great miscalculation he turned it against his brother. July didn't exist anymore, because of Vash, and the sad irony was that Knives managed to survive it while everyone else in the town did not. And what did this have to do with the present? That when he used his weapon the first time, his skin broke open and bled, and after the whole incident there wasn't a single open wound on Vash's arm at all?

"I didn't see her 'arm,' but she must have resonated with mine, causing the bleeding," Knives hypothesized, arms crossed. "Then there are the ears and teeth, clearly the same as the plants'. She knows about the false navel, the one-year maturation. As for age, you see her scars; more than a two-decade-old human would have."

"You have no right," Vash whispered to his brother between gritted teeth, "Whatever you were doing, whatever you did, you have absolutely no right. This has to stop. Right now. I'm sure she's just a human who heard stories about-"

"I have to know," Knives argued, matching his brother's quiet tone. "Help me think of a way to be certain. If she's human, she can leave."

"I dunno, Knives," Vash continued, keeping his own voice low. He didn't want her brought into their mess, and wished he could undo what had already been done. "I would've thought you'd have a test or something."

Knives frowned. Even from the Tessla files he and his brother had stumbled upon as a child, living in the ships as in space, before the Great Fall, Knives knew that when Tessla had been born before they had, that the scientists knew her as inhuman only from her birth and growth rate. Biologically, she was human, the files indicated. The scientists' extensive testing had ruined the child physiologically, causing her to waste away to the point of death shortly after her first birthday. They dissected her corpse and found the 'gate' within her body – the source of the angel weapon, a small spherical organ of unknown purpose to the human scientists – and that was the only evidence that she was no human. After the twins found Tessla's files, and then the physical specimens, a horrified Knives, himself having just turned one year old, had realized not only the importance of what he was, but the hatred of humankind that he held in his heart to this day. So, no, he did not know of an easy way to test this girl.

"Let me try to open her gate, deliberately this time."

Vash shook his head. "Try again."

"Plan B: we wait a decade or two, to see if she ages." Speaking with a half-smile, Knives added, "I can think of ways to pass the time."

Vash grabbed his brother's shoulder and squeezed. "Shut. Up," he hissed, trying to keep quiet.

"I lied...I'm just...some stupid girl and I...I'm not a demon, I just thought..." They turned at the sound of her voice. Nearly fainting upon an attempt to stand, she was lowering herself again, clutching an arm across her dress to hold it up, because it was still open in the back. Her fingers were too swollen from being tied up to fasten herself. Hair fallen down in waves over her shoulders and back, her ears stuck out in a very unfamiliar way to them. "I just...since you're an angel..."

"You know that, by 'angel,' I mean that we are children of a plant angel," Knives explained. "Do you still claim to be the same?"

She was unsure what to say. So, they were born from a plant? Knives' blade demonstration proved they were not just regular people. But they were hardly just like her, either. "You don't have ears and teeth like mine?"

Knives shook his head, no.

"Were you ever...hump-backed?" she asked, staring at the floorboards.

"What?" Knives responded, eyebrow up. "No. Being plant born, we are perfect." He held out his arms a bit, as though she should marvel at his perfection.

"Not perfect," Vash interjected. "Normal. Like people." He'd given up trying to protect her from their truth.

"Okay, well, I had a hump. I don't understand why you think I'm the same thing you are. I wasn't normal." She took two, slow breaths. "And I can't do this...this _knife_ thing. People called me a demon even after I got some of my teeth fixed and had the hump removed. They tell me I'm a demon. I'm not like you. And...and...a hundred years old? That's...ridiculous."

She wanted more than anything to be far away, not having to stand within the sight of Knives, whom she fully expected to lunge at her again at any moment. However horrible he was, if they were born from plants, she wished she didn't have to lie to save her skin. Long ago, she gave up on ever meeting someone who'd been born in a bulb like she had, and now she found two, but she couldn't tell them that.

"Have you any talents that are clearly not human, that they should call you a demon?" Knives asked further. "A plant should be able to defend itself better than you just did-"

"Knives, you are disgusting," Vash snapped.

Vanessa thought of her abilities with the patterns, the drawings in her book and her embroidery. She hadn't gotten the chance to use those on Knives tonight – it was too dark in the room, for one thing. But if he was asking her if she had something like the blades? "Weapons don't pop out-"

"Vash, we will walk out of this room, but remain in this house, after I am allowed to draw her weapon. Only very slightly, I give my word. If she has none, that will be the end of this discussion. And I'll make no attempt to absorb her."

"What the hell is he talking about!?"

Vash searched his brain for a better way, but knew that this at least would be simple. "I'm sorry. Please let him. He's just going to put his hand on your face for a-"

"NO."

"Trust me," Vash insisted. He sat beside her, but not too close. "This is just going to prove it, that you're just a regular person, and then I'll help you get far, far away from here. I can promise he won't hurt you. I won't let him."

Vanessa gritted her teeth. She could see it in Vash's eyes, that she had no choice. Part of her wanted to trust Vash, as he'd asked. He had that manner about him; and besides, she had no expectation that any glowing weapon would be coming out of her like Knives expected to see. So, she sat there beside him, throat tightening as Knives stepped toward her and instructed her to lean forward and let her dress fall away some so he could see the skin of her back. "Asshole," she murmured as she complied.

His left hand came over her face, she felt the pressure again, and the sharp, blinding pain in her spine came back. She tried to cry out, it hurt so badly, but a whimper came out instead.

Sounding distant, far away, Vash's voice demanded that Knives stop, that that was enough, and the pressure ceased, and slowly the pain faded.

Vanessa found herself sitting on the bed, gasping for breath, head throbbing. Her arms felt numb and lifeless, and Vash's hand was on her shoulder, steadying her, his other hand wiping wet cloth against her back, and he was telling her to breathe deeply. His voice sounded closer to her with each repetition. Knives' feet were there on the floor in front of her, and she felt the warmth of him leaning over her. "What was that?" she asked between breaths.

"Something's wrong," Knives reflected, distracted.

"What did you do to me?"

"You're okay," Vash assured her, "It hurts but it doesn't injure you."

"She bled her first time," Knives muttered to himself, oblivious to how that sounded, "but shouldn't have the second. That was...tragic..."

"What is he talking about? Get...Get away from me!" She shoved at his stomach, weakly, trying to push him.

Knives ignored her, but after a few seconds he walked away of his own volition, unlocking the door and stepping through the doorway. He stopped, still deep in thought, but, hesitating, he strode back in the room. Waiting until she lifted her head to look him in the eye, he stated very simply, but with total sincerity, "If you leave I will hunt you down. We are plants and we belong together." With that, he walked back out.

Vash and Vanessa sat there, still, and Vash's hand left her shoulder when he could tell she had the strength to sit on her own. The gravity of it – that Knives now knew the truth, that she was a plant – sank in slowly, nauseating her.

After a while in silence, Vash finally spoke. "We thought we were the only ones. For a hundred-fifty years. It's a long story. I'm so very sorry...for all of this."

She sat silent.

"It's hard, to live this long. I'm sure you know that, too. So, even if the only other person in the world who knows what it's like to be this way is...a horrible, horrible person...well, it's nice to know you aren't totally alone."

"What if I was safer when I thought I was alone?" she argued, a twinge of anxiety sneaking into her words.

"I'm not going to let him hurt you," Vash insisted, standing and pointing in the direction of Knives in the main room. "I don't know what happened, why I was out of commission when I should have been helping you tonight. I don't understand that. But with everything in my power, I won't let him hurt you. I don't want him to hurt anyone. Kind of has to be away from everyone to keep from hurting anyone, a guy like that. But I'm sure I can manage to keep him in line for just one person, so-"

"You're going to have to sleep sometime."

"True. But I'm a light sleeper," he added, thinking about how true that was, and again how strange it was that he had been so deeply asleep just then. "And he has more respect for plants than people. So, on the plus side, now that he knows you're not human, he won't hate you like he hates them."

"I think I'd rather he hated me and would let me leave," she added, staring down at her knees. "...Than for him to respect my nature and _not_ let me leave."

Head still reeling, throbbing, she swiveled round to see the bloody sheet Vash had wiped her with earlier. She wanted a bath. And she needed to be alone. So, she stood, slowly, clutching her dress to herself, and she shuffled toward the bath, starting the water. Vash hurriedly brought her bag to her so she'd have something to change into, told her he'd have something for her to eat and a safe, clean place to sleep for the night, and she locked herself in and let her clothes fall to the floor. The water was hot when she slipped into it.

Her mind swam around the events of the night, that if she'd just kept her mouth shut about what she was, maybe he would have let her go after he was through. But no - she spoke. And she believed that he would, in fact, hunt her down if she tried to leave, because what she was was important enough to hunt down.

So, maybe she should have just let him rape her.

Vash sat against the hall side of the bathroom door, head buried in his hands. Tears streamed down his face, and when he heard her scream, and he realized it was a scream of grief and that he couldn't burst in to help her with that, he began to sob, silently.


	8. He Can Change

By the time the second sun rose, Vash was anxious to know that she was alright. Head tipped back against the door as he listened for movement within the bath, he'd used the hours to think of a great many things. The look on her face, the way her hands swelled from being knotted to the bedpost – and when his brother had come in from the main room to silently wipe the blood from the wall, to replace Vash's bloodstained sheets with clean ones – it was painful to believe it had actually happened. The dry tracks of tears felt tight on his cheeks and chin.

Relief washed over as he heard the sound of a person rising from water – water that stopped being warm hours ago.

Knives had been lying on his bed for quite some time, trying and failing to rest. He gave up on falling asleep in this stuffy room, as the day became warm and the air still. Stepping past his brother, he opened the back entry door and let the breeze from the north roll into the little house. "Is she going to come out?" Knives asked quietly, staring out into the dull horizon of the wasteland outside.

"When she's ready."

"Hmm. Come outside with me; I want to talk."

"Talk."

"Vash, let's step outside. Please."

Vash stood, unsteadily. His foot had fallen asleep and his neck was sore. He glanced back, once, at the closed bathroom door before standing beside his brother several yards out from the house.

"I don't want her to leave."

"Yeah, I heard your ultimatum," Vash responded, shoving his hands in his pockets and shaking his foot. "About that..."

"I want her to _want_ to stay," Knives added, clear eyes fixed on the horizon line. "I'm bound to this house by our agreement. We have no such agreement with her. My question is, how would you advise we persuade her to stay, willingly?"

Toeing the sand, Vash let that sink in. The 'old' Knives would have been fine with the persuasion of violence, wouldn't have cared about the will of a captive. This was a good sign. "You know, I want her to stay, too. She's the Tessla who got the chance to grow up, who we got the chance to meet. But, after what you did to her-"

"She's afraid of me," Knives finished. "So, do I apologize?"

"An apology would be a start. If you meant it. If you had an inkling of an idea how awful-"

"Shh."

"What?"

"Quietly." Knives made a gesture back toward the open back door of the house. "Her hearing is probably much better than ours, given the elongation of her ears. Plant angels can hear through glass, walls. I'd rather her not hear this conversation."

Vash hadn't considered that. He adopted a quieter tone, and continued. "Well, I'm not sure what somebody can do, to atone for almost raping someone." Knives heard his brother's voice crack.

"The way you're acting, I suppose you thought I was going to kill her?"

"No, I'm clear on what you were going to do. You don't feel guilty about it."

"I'm not accustomed to controlling myself, nor am I accustomed to the company of...females. In retrospect, I wish I hadn't forced myself on her; clearly, I've complicated things. Though, that is how we discovered what she is, so..."

Vash took a deep breath. "Empathize with her."

Knives became quiet, reflecting on the twins' disagreement as to moral hierarchy, since Vash saw the humans as on the same level as them, where Knives disagreed, seeing them as parasitic, and therefore deserving less regard. Vash had a strong point – that even simple creatures feel pain, and that it is noble to do what one can to end suffering. To slay a village and claim one is saving the village plant is a weakness of pride and wrath, since the motivation to do so is more about retribution and emotion and it produces so much suffering directly and by proxy.

Imagine you are one of those being killed, Vash had said, and imagine the pain without having any idea why it's happening to you. And imagine the people you leave behind, and how they suffer in agony over your death and your suffering. What you imagine is empathy. Only animals of very, very high intelligence can empathize.

Knives knew he possessed great intelligence. Therefore, it frustrated him greatly to be spoken to so simply. But, once, out of curiosity and boredom, Knives tried to empathize for the humans as he already did for the bulbed angels, and for a moment he felt something like nausea and sadness. It was a confusing moment, but it gave Knives great pause.

"Envision someone tying you up and-"

"I'd cut through it," Knives interrupted.

"When you were little, you wouldn't have been able to. So imagine being little again, and you're stuck. Someone else has power over you. Back then, any strong adult, weapon or no, could overpower you. So, imagine you were alone in a room with somebody like that and they grabbed you and tied you up and..." Vash's voice was wavering some as he spoke. He paused. "Being...raped...Hasn't happened to me before, but I can imagine. I can try to. It makes me feel like throwing up. I think about you cutting my arm off, and that doesn't make me sick; it just makes my arm hurt. When your body is hurt, you're left with a wound, and it heals or scars, but it's not a wound anymore. Being raped, I imagine that's a wound that festers and never can heal. Somebody beats you up, stabs you - when it's done you start to get over it. But if somebody violates you – put themselves into you to enjoy using you, and you can't make them stop – when does that really end? That's the sort of hurt that doesn't wash away, or heal, or go away. That's how you hurt her."

"I didn't actually-"

"You _almost_ did. You want her to be glad she met 'fellow plants' but she's thinking, this guy tried to rape me! And think about it this way – she's practically your _sister_."

"Not literally, Vash; our mother died on the main ship."

Vash winced. To Vash, 'mother' was Rem, the woman who raised them from infants, who Knives killed along with the other many thousands of sleeping humans in the fleet. But Knives meant their plant mother, who died aboard the same ship Rem died on while trying to save the ships.

"As I said, it was a poor choice," Knives continued, forehead creased. "I just need to alter my behavior to make her more comfortable."

"The moment you can really empathize with her, when you feel genuinely sorry for it, that's when you can seek her forgiveness, and maybe – just maybe – she won't want to run away from you. So if you just concentrate on that whole she's-superior-like-you thing, if that's the way this works for you, use that. Figure out how to be someone people want to be around, instead of the monster everybody tries to run away from."

They both swung round at the familiar creak of the bathroom door hinge. Vanessa stepped into the hall, head craning around. When she noticed them outside, she stared out at them.

Vash watched her, squinting to see her expression, which he could not see. A long moment passed, and finally she turned and disappeared deeper into the house. He glanced at his brother, who was facing the same direction. "For starters, don't stare at her, or you're bound to look like you're fixing to go after her again," Vash muttered. "Don't look at her unless she speaks to you, and then, you look her in the eye."

Knives broke his gaze and locked eyes with his brother. He would try that, as it sounded simple enough.

"Okay, and, the agreement," Vash added, a bright idea popping into his mind. "I agree to give you suggestions on how to be civil. You need to concede to something I want, too. You should let me have a friend over on occasion."

Frowning, Knives shook his head.

"I want to invite one or two people over here, when I choose. You're not allowed to be cruel to them. It won't be so bad. And they won't be going into your room."

"Fine. Then, then you must agree that we keep her with us."

"Only if you agree to keep your goddamn hands off her."

"If she leaves us, I will do what I must to retrieve her."

"But so long as she stays, you will _not_ touch her."

Knives thought a moment before nodding, yes. The agreement was amended. He was satisfied enough that he thought he'd try to get some sleep.

Vash followed his brother inside, relieved when he went to his bed. Though tired as well, Vash wanted to check on Vanessa. She was sitting, head resting on her arms on the table. A strange ear rose out of the long, loose blond hair that covered her face. He mistook her for sleeping, and upon seating himself at another chair he startled when she suddenly said, "So then, Vash. Here we are."

"Um. Yeah." It surprised him that she was resting so calmly – what if it'd been Knives coming in there instead of he? But, glancing again at her ear, he supposed she did have acute hearing.

Lifting her head, Vanessa pressed her forehead into her hands. Her sleeves fell up her forearms such that Vash could see the bruises around her wrists. "Don't suppose you might clue me in on just what sort of hole I've fallen into?"

Vash remembered her leather cuffs in his pocket that he'd found on the bedroom door, and he set them on the table in front of her. "I'm not sure where to begin. My brother and I have a long history."

"You don't need to start from the beginning."

Vash watched her fingers rub at her temples, saw the way she was slumping in the chair. He heard a new sort of tone to her voice. The Vanessa he met was the one she showed the world, but here amongst her kind for the first time, she was showing her ears and she seemed to not be pretending anymore. "I'm so..._so_, very sorry about what happened, I-"

"I know, you already said that," she snapped. "Let's stop talking about it."

"Sorry." He thought on what exactly she _would_ want to know. "We've been living here for less than a month. Before that, we were separate and our lives were very different. But things changed, a lot of big stuff happened. I managed to get his, um, attention...and we made a sort of pact, between us. I conceded to never leave his side, if he agreed to the same. I agreed that no humans be allowed into this house, and he agreed that we could live in a town of people. He wouldn't hurt anyone so long as they stayed away.

"You heard we were a couple – Meryl overheard somebody say that when we first came here, and I asked her to spread the rumor. So long as nobody came close enough to notice Knives and me are twins, people believe it. And since the people here are pretty religious, and they have some strong biases against people like that, the rumor keeps them away. This agreement of ours was holding. Then, you came-"

"And I breach the agreement."

Vash nodded. "I hope that explains my being a poor host. I'm normally a pretty charming guy! Given the circumstances, I was just trying to get you out of here before he..."

"Got it." She seemed to just notice her cuffs, and snatched them up. Tucking some of her hair behind her ear, her eyes darted around the tabletop, but wouldn't meet his, as she buckled them back on over the bruises. "He's the trowel you fell on."

"...Right. We have an agreement. I violated it. It's not a good system, but believe me, it's a better system than the chaos of the past."

She bit her lip, studying his expression. Vanessa lowered her voice and he could barely hear her. "Should I run or stay?"

Swallowing hard, Vash gritted his teeth. He spoke so quietly he could hardly hear himself. "He agreed not to touch you so long as you stay here. If you leave, I'm not sure what he'd do, but I promise I'll do what I can to keep him from finding you."

"I don't want to be hunted." She looked away, down the hall, and then back to Vash. "Have you tried to kill him," she mouthed out silently.

Vash's heart sank. "I don't believe in death as punishment," he mouthed back. "He can change."

Vanessa made a 'hmph' sound.

"He _is_ changing," Vash continued to whisper. "He's not a rampaging sand worm, or some rabid dog. He's been a scared, angry, confused little boy for a very, very long time. I'm not excusing him – he's done some really terrible things. But he did them all for reasons he thought were just, and I believe that he'll come to regret the pain he caused. He deserves the chance to regret." His cheeks reddened as he spoke, eyes tearing up a little. He really looked like he deeply believed all of that.

They sat in silence a while after that. Vash wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. She went back to biting on her lip while tracing the edge of her book at her side with her fingers.

"Okay," she finally said. "Okay." Looking up slightly, she saw him quickly and deliberately smile, but his eyes betrayed a sadness that he couldn't hide from her.


	9. Three of a Kind

"Groceries! Vash, groceries!"

"Good day, Mr. Vash!"

Vash lifted his head from his arms and wiped his mouth. He hadn't remembered falling asleep, head on his arms on the table, across from Vanessa who'd done the same. Glancing over at her, he saw one eye peeking from between waves of hair.

"The girls bring us supplies every Thursday," Vash explained, scooting his chair away from the table. He pulled away the curtain from one of the front windows and waved at the girls, noticing from the purple-red wash of the sky that it was between first and second sunset.

"Wait. My ears are showing," she mumbled, holding her hands over them as she shuffled out of her seat toward the couch and her bag.

"They know what me and Knives are. Don't worry. You can trust them completely," he assured, about to swing open the door to retrieve the girls' bags. He paused, remembering, and smiled. "Actually, I'm going to ask them to have dinner with us." With that, he pulled open the front door and motioned for Millie and Meryl to step up into the home.

Meryl looked at him like he was crazy.

"Mr. Vash," started the tall one, with the long, brown hair, "I thought we weren't allowed?"

"You are now. Don't be afraid. I want to cook you dinner!"

Millie happily skipped up the steps and came right into the house, plopping her two bags of groceries down on the table. "Miss Vanessa, how nice to see you!"

The smaller girl stayed in the dirt, glaring questioningly up at Vash. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

With great reluctance, Meryl mounted the stairs, and let Vash take the heavy bag from her arms as she crept carefully into the small, clay home. She hadn't stepped foot inside since the morning before Knives moved into it, and her head turned to and fro to see if the twin was around. He wasn't and she breathed relief, but her heart was still beating faster than usual. "I don't know about this, Vash; why is this okay?"

Turning to walk down the hallway, Vash called over his shoulder, "Just a sec."

Meryl felt Millie squeeze her upper arm, and looked up at the very happy expression on her friend's face. It was a wonder how oblivious to danger Millie always was. Or maybe it was courage.

Vash marched back in, still grinning from ear to ear. "Yeah, he's cool with it. Things have changed."

"Does he not hate humans anymore?" Millie whispered, eyebrows up hopefully.

"Not exactly."

"Vanessa, how are you feeling," Meryl asked politely, only just addressing the statuesque woman seated on the couch. Her hair was really beautiful down, Meryl noticed with a twinge of jealousy. She stared a bit too long, she could tell, because Vanessa looked down and away, so Meryl turned. But what was that? Turning back to look at the woman, Meryl's jaw fell open partway, and she stared without trying to hide it.

"What's the matter, Meryl?" The sweet girl asked.

"Her _ears_," Meryl squeaked out. "How didn't I notice that before?"

"She covered them up," Vash responded, putting his hand on the small girl's shoulder supportively. "Millie, Meryl - Vanessa is a plant."

"Like you and Mr. Knives?" Millie asked, eyes wide. Seeing Vash nod to the affirmative, she smiled wide. "That's wonderful!"

"Wonderful," Meryl repeated dryly. Her blood turned to ice when she saw Knives round the corner of the hall and walk soberly toward the room.

"Miss Vanessa," Millie started, walking past Knives without hesitation, to sit beside Vanessa on the couch. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"We didn't know till just now," Vash answered for her.

"So, girl plants have pointy ears?" Millie asked, marveling at the very long ears of the pretty girl next to her.

"No," Knives interjected, pouring himself a glass of water.

Vash stared in his brother's direction a moment, then smiled again, and, taking the bags of groceries into his arms, he went to the stove and cutting board to begin cooking. He pulled items out and handed some to Knives to put away in the nearby cupboard. "I'm thinking, pork fried rice."

Millie clapped her hands together. "Sounds delicious!"

Head buzzing, Meryl sat slowly into a kitchen chair. "So, you're a plant? Did you come looking for them?" She asked Vanessa, gesturing at the twins in the kitchen.

Vanessa shook her head.

"Then, what, do you all have a...a...secret handshake or something?" Meryl asked incredulously. Turning to Vash, who was looking at her over his shoulder, she gestured her confusion into the air. "How could you _tell_?"

"Let's not go into that," Vash suggested gently.

"Well...okay..." Meryl murmured. She startled at the sound of Knives slicing something, but kept herself from fleeing out the still-open front door when she saw he was just cutting some carrots with a knife – a real knife with a handle.

With a hissing sizzle, Vash tossed some wet rice into the hot oil of the wok, and he asked Millie to tell them all how her family was doing while he worked on the meal.

Millie was always happy to go on and on about her many, many relatives, and she obliged to do so.

Meryl felt herself relax a little. It was all so...domestic. The secretly very powerful brothers, chopping roots and frying up dinner, like they were anyone, with the sounds of what this cousin and that half-brother were up to filling the air. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Vanessa fidget with her fingers on the embroidery of her gray sleeves. The woman's expression was distant, haunted. She looked up politely when Millie turned to address her while talking about family, but quickly went back to letting her eyes dart to and fro once the cheerful woman looked elsewhere.

For a moment, Meryl and Vanessa's eyes met, and a chill ran down the small girl's spine. Vanessa looked away again, down at her dress, and Meryl turned to look out the front door, absently listening to bits of Millie's stories while taking in the lovely colors of darkening sky.

A little fair-haired girl bounded around the corner of the houses a way's out, racing toward the clay house. Lungs gulping in air, she halted at the bottom step and leaned forward, hands on her knees, to catch her breath.

Meryl stood and stepped down into the sand near the girl. She heard Millie stop talking, behind her. "What's wrong, Bea?"

Little Bea breathed in deep and fast a few more times before choking out words. "My...new...half...brother. Somethin' wrong. I...I ran..."

"To get Nurse Vanessa?" Meryl finished. When the girl nodded, Meryl looked up into the house, meeting eyes with Vash who was standing in the doorway.

Vash recognized the little girl, who'd run to the house the other day with the two men, to ask Vanessa to help deliver a baby. He glanced over at Vanessa, whose hands were protectively grabbing at her ears.

She looked over to Knives to see his reaction, but once her gaze locked with his cool, steel blue eyes, the blood rushed from her face and she quickly looked to the floor.

"She can go," Vash half-asked, half demanded. "Vanessa, can you help?"

Hands darting into her bag, Vanessa rushed to figure out the quickest way to cover her ears up. There wasn't time to braid and pin her hair around them, so she yanked a black scarf free from the pocket of her pack, hastily tying it round her head and pinning it in a few places to keep it over the telltale flesh.

"No," Knives began, voice calm as he continued chopping things. "Vanessa will stay for dinner."

"Knives, she's a healer-"

"She's staying with us."

"You can't-"

"I'm going into town and I'm coming back tonight," Vanessa snapped, hugging her worn medical bag to her chest.

Everyone was very quiet, gazing at Vanessa, waiting.

Knives stared into her eyes. She appeared resolute. "You're coming back."

"I _am_," she practically growled in reply.

Nodding once, Knives watched her walk quickly out of the door.

"We...we can save her some fried rice," Millie chirped helpfully, breaking the tense silence.

Vash smiled. "Yeah. We will."

Already most of the way to Bea's family's home, Vanessa felt the great relief of freedom, to be out of that clay prison. She could almost keep up with the scared, skinny girl in front of her, who kicked up sand as she ran.

Bea finally came to a halt beside her grandfather outside the home, who did not raise his eyes to Vanessa's upon approach.

"We don't need her help," he said sternly to the little girl. "No matter what your daddy says. Listen, you best to go back where you came."

Vanessa set her jaw for a moment. "Sir, I've come to see to the infant."

"I know what you're here for."

"Miss Vanessa, please, my son!" the frightened voice of the baby's father called out from within the house.

Taking a long look at the older man, his head turned away from her, Vanessa frowned and turned into the small home.


	10. The Witch and the Sodomites

The father's glassy eyes met Vanessa's and darted back down to the bundle in his arms. Her hearing clued her in to the hoarse, shallow breathing sounds coming from the bundle. "When did this start?" she asked, rummaging in her leather bag for a stethoscope.

"I don't know, he just, he just, he can't breathe," the poor man choked out, cradling the baby and holding it toward her. "He can't breathe!"

Vanessa pressed the cold steel button against the child's soft chest, prompting him to wail, or try to wail, in a sort of choked and shrill way. She concentrated on the thump, the windy sound of the lungs as the baby tensed between cries. Making note of a pulse, she closed her eyes and listened for a long moment, the baby's cries dying down. The woman and three teen daughters from Westwood staying with the family sat on cushions in the corner, watching, and, Vanessa assumed, waiting for their turn to be looked over as well. And they'd have to wait. The baby was in bad shape. Vanessa listened to the wheezing thing and thought about the pages in her book, wondering what would work.

"Don't you touch him! Don't you _touch_ him!"

Looking over her shoulder, Vanessa saw the new mother stagger toward her, face red and angry as hell. "You shouldn't be out of bed, you'll-"

"Get _out_ you _bitch_!" she screamed out, batting the hands and cold metal away from her son. "Get away, you, you...you took away my...You killed my only baby, now I can't have any more, you...you..."

Vanessa stepped back, out the door, hands in front of her, bag tucked under her arm. She glared for a moment at the new father, who'd she'd asked not to tell that she had to do a tubal ligation while performing surgery, rendering the woman unable to have another child. It was necessary, and the man had nodded approval at the time.

"If I hadn't and you'd become pregnant again-"

"Shut up!" the woman screamed.

"Get back in bed, you'll tear-"

"You evil woman!"

Vanessa became aware of the gathering crowd as she stepped back, into the main street of Bering. Bea hid behind her grandfather, who looked bitterly at the tall stranger woman.

"Sir, that child has-"

"Save your breath," he interrupted, thick, white brows furrowed.

Vanessa's cheeks became tinged with pink. "I was _asked_ here."

"My son-in-law's a damn naive man, and this child didn't know any better," he replied, shaking slightly as he spoke.

Turning from him, Vanessa took a few steps away. She was stopped by a few villagers and a wanderer, eyes eager to be tended to. "My arm," one insisted, holding open a bandage on their forearm for her to inspect.

"Keep soaking in salt water, thirty minutes, three times a day. It's healing well."

"Miss, my son."

Vanessa recognized this tan-skinned woman as the mother of the young man she'd sat with the day before. "How is his recovery going?" she asked.

The woman's face was sullen.

"He's succumbing to it?" Vanessa asked, confused.

"Nobody survives stony fever," someone nearby shouted.

"Nobody."

"She can't do anything for poor Javier."

"Poor Javier."

"Well, I can do something for the pain," Vanessa offered softly, expecting the woman to usher her inside her home.

Instead, the woman stared, agape. "What'd you do to him?" she asked, weakly.

The gathering of a few was growing, now over ten, in the cooling streets of Bering. Faces peeked out from windows, and people stood in their doorways. It was a small town, one where you only had to open a window or a door to know your neighbor's secrets. Low, hushed murmurs wafted about like smoke from a small fire.

"I'm not sure what you mean. I can offer to help his pain. Would you like me to-"

"The stony fever, it went away," the woman yelped, knowing how impossible it was. "What did you _do_!?"

"I know what she did, mommy!" A small boy clutching a stuffed bear sewn from old socks tugged at his mother's dress. "Navi told me!"

The boy, Navi, nodded, fingers squeezing the crucifix around his young neck. He was a pubescent boy, just getting pimples. "I saw it."

The murmuring crowd gathered closer to hear. They hadn't a clue how somebody could get rid of something as deadly certain as stony fever. Vanessa resisted the urge to look about her, to see the gathering people, but she could hear the shrieking young mother behind her. Apparently no one was comforting her or asking her back into bed, where she should be.

Navi waited until the crowd quieted before he spoke. "I thought she was praying over him, but she has this book with these satanic symbols in them, and she was staring at them all crazy-like. Mumbling in tongues, putting hexes on my brother. He was about dead, and she raised him. Like she's making him her servant, you know, she raised him from the grave and she put this hex on him. God was going to take him! But she yanked him back!"

The young boy's fervor infected the crowd. More of the wanderers and townsfolk stepped into the street as the sky blackened.

"From the hands of God himself! My brother was in the sweet embrace of the Lord, and this, this heathen witch woman, she cursed him back, hexing him to her bidding!"

"That's ridiculous," Vanessa tried to argue, her words lost in the din of the crowd. "I don't have any control over-"

"Is he even human anymore?" the tan mother moaned.

"From the hands of the Lord..."

"Oh, God save us!"

"What have you done?"

"I'm just using medicine, okay-"

"Helen, what if Javier's got struck by a miracle?"

"Miracle?"

"Helen, maybe our prayers were answered, maybe we're taking this wrong!"

The crowd murmured on that point, and Navi, still reeling in his fervor and passion, stormed past his mother. "I'm no liar!" he screamed, fists balled at his sides. "I saw this witch woman curse my brother! Show your true self, you creature, you foul thing! Show your devil horns!" In a quick swipe, he yanked at the scarf around Vanessa's head, and pins few out.

Many of them gasped, then cried out in surprise. They shouted that the boy was right!

"Witch!"

"...killed my grandbaby, took the womb from my only daughter!"

"...why my cat died, she..."

"Demon!"

"These things aren't true! Let me alone; I'm no harm to you!"

"See, I knew she was evil from first sight!" a man called out, whose voice Vanessa recognized as one of the men of Westwood, one of the first to grab a canteen from her belongings, in the desert that day. "I couldn't put my finger on it! But you knew! You knew she was a devil woman! Look at her!"

"Sold her soul for beauty!"

"Witch!"

A small rock flew past her side. She noticed a few men walking out of their homes with shotguns and pistols. Women were clutching at their children who wept aloud. Crossing her arms close up her chest, Vanessa looked down at her embroidery and concentrated on its pattern, hands aware of the quick pace of the heart beneath her clothing.

"Look at her! The evil in her!" the Westwood man continued, jabbing a finger at her angrily. His face reddened, and he gasped in a breath, then another, and fell weak onto his hands. "My...my chest..." he stammered.

An armed man, near him, fell as though fainting, into the arms of a couple of women. A strong young man to her left also fainted onto the sandy ground.

"Oh, God, she's hexing us, too!" someone cried out, and the crowd as a whole seemed to not know what to do.

The accusations of "Witch!" and "Demon!" and such blended together into a roar of fear and anger, spat out of fearful and angry mouths on sweaty faces.

Vanessa stared at her other sleeve, panting from effort but standing her ground, and as another man's knees buckled a few more rocks flew at her. One landed at her temple, and in a dull, soundless blast of light, her focus was lost. She could see the blur of gray that was her sleeve, but not the embroidery. Looking up, she saw the splotches of light and dark that were the surging crowd, but not the faces. Her body trembled and she gritted her teeth.

OOO

Meryl stared down at her half-eaten dinner, sure she heard something that time. This was not good; not good at all. "Vash, it's late, can you please escort us home?"

Vash shoveled in the last of his meal, and spoke with a full mouth. "Escort you..." He saw the look on Meryl's face, which spoke volumes, and Millie's expression became serious all of a sudden as well. "Okay. Knives, I'll be back in a few minutes."

Knives looked up from where he'd moved his chair, into a corner away from the table. "I don't see why-"

"Just this time, that's all. And I can walk Vanessa back, if she's done in town." Pulling on a coat that was weighed down heavily on one side by steel, Vash swallowed hard.

Sort of grunting in reply, Knives ceased arguing.

OOO

Vanessa stared down the barrel of a shotgun, the man holding it growling for her to stop hexing people, that he wouldn't miss. Calm as she could muster, Vanessa implored him, "You don't have to do that." Her hand went over the end of the barrel gently. "This is a mistake."

"Thou shall not suffer a witch to live!" someone shouted. Others agreed.

"A trial!" an older woman cried out. "Give her a trial! We're good Christian people!"

Some, including the eagerly watching young children, looked deeply disappointed by that, but a few adults nodded that, yes, that was reasonable.

About that time, Vash and the girls had rounded the corner that put them out of sight of the little clay house. Their pace quickened, as they stopped pretending everything was fine.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Meryl mumbled. "Can you hear it?"

"Yeah," Vash responded, referring to the sounds of shouting and such that he couldn't hear very clearly yet. The clamor was somewhere in the south of town, on Bering's main street, which they would have to walk a ways yet and round another corner to see. "Listen. I want you to go straight home and stay there till everybody calms down."

"We're coming with you, we can-"

"No, Meryl," Vash interrupted, "No, you have to go home and...and you should lay flat on the floor. Just in case."

"Okay, Mr. Vash." Millie could tell Vash had good reason to say that, and she grabbed Meryl's hand.

Vash jogged away from them, trusting they would do as he'd asked. Finally rounding the corner to main street, Vash saw the crowd, heard the angry buzz. He walked up to them as casually as he could muster, tapping someone on the shoulder and asking what was going on.

"We've got a bona fide witch on-" The man stopped, shoving the shoulder of the woman near him. "Hey, it's one of the gays!"

Smirking, Vash moved past him and wedged himself deeper into the crowd.

"Shoulda known, the witch and the sodomites!"

Heart sinking, he gazed over the shoulders of the crowd enough to see Vanessa in the middle, blood trickling down her nose, grasping at a shotgun a man was aiming her way. "What...What'd she do?" he cried out.

His reply came in clashing shouts about evil and hexing and spells upon them, gestures made at ears, 'keep out of it, sodomite,' and the like. He surveyed the crowd, guessed that most of the town population was present, saw the sheriff's badge on a man brandishing a revolver and looking mad. A couple of men were being lifted onto shoulders to be carried away, limp as ragdolls. "My son! My son!" a woman was wailing, and a young boy near her threw his hands up in the air and yelled out gospel.

He couldn't let his twin hear this commotion, come to join this fray, else everyone in Bering would surely die. Vash opened his mouth to yell something, but stopped when he saw an older man with tear-soaked cheeks approach, holding the hand of the little girl who'd run to get Vanessa that night. The man's lip trembled, and many in the crowd hushed and stared on to see what he'd say.

Vash's hand moved away from the Colt within his clothes. He hoped he wouldn't need it, after all.


	11. Threat

In the Bering street, a shotgun tipped away from Vanessa's hand, over the shoulder of its owner, as an older man approached her.

"What you did...my daughter...my grandchild," the old man called out, voice cracking in his throat. "How could you!?" he cried, and he dove forward and punched the strange, blond woman in the gut. "How could you!?"

Bea and a teenage girl tugged at the old man's arms to draw him back.

Vash cupped his hand round his mouth, other hand reaching into his jacket, and he yelled, "Stop this! Listen to me! I'm-"

Someone shoved him. "Mind yourself, sodomite!"

"Trial!"

"Hurry, let's have the trial!"

"Tomorrow!" a booming voice cut in. The man was very tall and burly, with serious, cool green eyes and a commanding presence. He stepped away from the crowd, toward Vanessa, who was doubled over but still standing. "In the morning! It's late and we're not ourselves!"

Again, Vash felt somewhat relieved, and quieted with the crowd. He'd have all night to get Vanessa out of this mess, if they waited until the next morning to have whatever sort of witch trial they were talking about.

Not everyone looked pleased, but few voiced disagreement.

"We'll hold her till morning and then have a fair trial!" the man continued, gesturing toward his friends, a small band of similarly confident men who did not have to pull their guns from their holsters to feel safe. "Is everyone satisfied?"

Most voiced approval, casting stern looks at the girl who would need a great amount of witch's power to escape from such men.

Vash breathed out, slowly.

The green eyed man grasped Vanessa's wrist, hand enveloping the leather cuff, and shouted, "It's decided then!" He twisted her wrist with his great hand, up between her shoulder blades, forcing her to arch and stiffen against his grip, her mouth open but no sound coming forth. "We'll have a talk with her, keep our eyes on her till morning," the man added, beginning to walk away.

"No," Vanessa mouthed, feet dragging, "No." Perhaps it was something in the man's grip and his voice, and in the gruff sounds of approval his friends let loose, eyes on her breasts as her back arched, but something prompted her to snap. She scratched at the man's strong limb, and her voice became shrill. "_No! No!_" Her eyes were wild with fear. The green eyed man hastened to drag her out of the street.

"Drop your weapons or I will slaughter you!" a deep, booming voice shouted out over the din. "Toss your guns back! Get on your stomachs! Do it now, or I start by killing your children, you scum!"

Now, everyone paid attention to the tall, spiky-haired man. The street was silent.

Vash had pulled his Colt revolver from inside his jacket and held it above his head like a torch. His eyes were narrowed in a frightening expression, complimenting the twisted grin across his face. "That's right, I'm Vash the Stampede! The Legendary Humanoid Typhoon! You-" Suddenly stopping, Vash felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his skin tingling in a familiar way. He felt that his brother's blades were approaching. Urgency nearly choked him, but he struggled to keep this up and end it. "You don't want to play the hero – else I'll cut the hands off your loved ones!"

Obeying the legendary man's gestures, the crowd of Bering tossed back weapons and lowered slowly onto their bellies in the sand. The green eyed man and his friends, however, did not; instead they fingered the handles of their pistols.

One loud bang split the air, and the man and his three friends crumpled to the ground, clutching at matching right shoulder wounds. Everyone heard just one shot, but he'd squeezed off four. Ignoring the singed neckline edge of her dress, from the bullet's path to her captor's shoulder, Vanessa shoved herself away from the man after falling to the ground with them.

"You messed with the wrong woman, folks! Because I am the legendary gunman, the worst of the baddest, and you'd already be dead if it weren't for this pretty thing asking me sweetly not to do it. So, you just lay still there like I told you and I don't have to make a bloodbath of this horrible little town! Me and the girl, here, we're walking away, and when we're out of sight you're all going indoors and staying there! If I see a soul outside their house tonight, I'm peeling the skin from their bodies and I'll do the same to next of kin." The tingling on his neck became the crackle, and he waved his gun at the heads of the people on the ground. Hand offered to Vanessa, who had grabbed her leather bag from the ground and was trying to balance herself to stand, he added, "I've done far worse to far better people."

The people were silent, some sobbing softly, some praying quietly, but no one dared move. They knew the name Vash the Stampede, who was merciless and who easily reduced the huge city of July to rubble in an instant. You didn't try to fight back against the man – if he even _was_ a man – who had carved a hole into the fifth moon.

"I want blood – I really do – but I'm not going to kill a one of you," Vash continued, voice low to chill the bones of everyone around. "No, because she begged my mercy on you, pathetic fools. Don't try my patience or I'm bound to change my mind." Backing away, he felt Vanessa's grip on his arm, faltering, unsteady.

They stepped backward several yards and then turned and walked quickly away. Turning the first corner, they saw Knives approach, blades drawn. Knives saw the blood on Vanessa's face, noticed her clutching at her stomach, stumbling to walk. His lip curled back in anger.

Vash held his gun up beside his chin. "Under control. Help me get her home."

"I'll _kill_ them..." Knives hissed.

"There's no need; you need to pick her up and carry her back to the house," Vash demanded, stepping aside a moment to untie a resting tomas' reins from its post and lead it along with them. Without Vash to balance against, she tripped on the ground.

Knives' blades disappeared as he dashed forward to catch her mid-fall. He gripped her shoulder and looped his arm around her back for support, smelling sweat and blood in the hair that brushed against his chin, feeling quick, hot breath through the cloth of his shirt. It crossed his mind that she was hurt enough, shaken enough, that she was letting him help her, and he hoisted her into his arms to hurry her back to their home.

Keeping up the rear, Vash kept his gun at the ready and led the toma behind him along the silent path. He swiftly pointed it at the person rushing at him, but drew it away just as quickly when he recognized his short friend. "Meryl, go back inside," he whispered, glancing up to be sure Knives was well enough away and still headed home.

"I heard some of it," she whispered back, clutching at the hand that held the reins, her eyes wide and full of tears. "Did he-"

"No, everyone's safe. But we have to leave. Now."

She nodded sadly. There was no arguing – they couldn't stay. "We thought so."

"Tell Millie 'so long' for me, okay?" he asked, drawing her into a hug. "I hope I get to see you again, but don't wait up. Go back to December; stay with Millie's family, please? This place isn't so friendly anymore."

Sniffling, she squeezed his chest. "Vash, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have brought her to your house," she stammered, trying not to cry.

"What are you talking about? Don't say that. You girls are true friends; you're good, kind people. Promise me you'll be safe. I have to hurry." He bent down and kissed her forehead before letting her go. Stepping away quickly, he called back over his shoulder, "Goodnight, Meryl."

"Goodnight, Vash," she replied, holding her arms to her chest. She started to cry despite herself, and cursed her poor judgment for not just finding that damn girl a tent on the night the wanderers arrived.

Once inside the clay house, Knives set Vanessa's feet back on the ground, and she hastily walked away from him. She shuffled straight to the sink basin and held water to her face. Around the corner of the hall, she heard the soft squawk of a riding toma just outside the back door, and she recognized Vash's boot-falls approach.

The twin brothers wasted no words, pulling already-packed backpacks out of the closet behind the couch. They rushed here and there, grabbing clothing, nonperishables, and a few things from the bathroom for the long journey ahead. Finally, Knives scooped up a sack full of canteens, and set them on the counter by the sink, near the pile of Vanessa's canteens that'd already been placed there the night before. Wanting to hurry and fill them at the basin sink, Knives hesitated, not sure how best to get her to move out of his way.

She ignored him for a moment, letting the water run into her hands and pressing it to her face. When she finally stopped, steadying herself at the basin edge, she accepted a white kitchen towel from Knives' hand and held it over her nose and chin. Staring at the canteens instead of at him, she stepped back to give him room at the sink.

He watched a line of bright blood trickle along a drop of water, over her forehead, sliding over the bridge of her nose. Leaning forward to get a clear look at the wound causing it, he saw the open gash, and frowned.

Vanessa drew away, hurrying off with her medical bag into the bathroom, leaving Knives to silently fill all of their canteens.

Coming back into the house from strapping a couple of bags to the sides of the toma saddle, Vash noted his brother at work, and he stuffed Vanessa's pack into his own. "I only grabbed one toma. She can ride and we'll be on foot," he explained solemnly, knowing his brother, like himself, was no fan of riding by toma.

"We're ready," Knives announced, holding up the strung-together bundle of canteens, thudding comfortingly against each other on their straps. He and his brother pulled on traveling cloaks, and he fastened the mass of canteens to the outside of his pack, pulling the heavy mass upon his shoulders.

Vash slung his pack over his shoulder and watched his brother march down the hallway. It was a relief that Knives went along with this so willingly. One would expect Knives to slice the whole of the town to shreds, or at the least to protest their fleeing like rodents. There was a clear reason, as to why. Knives was standing outside the bathroom doorway, staring at his reason.

Upon walking closer, Vash peered in, to see Vanessa sew the last few stitches into her forehead, calm as could be. She glanced over at them and promptly set her eyes elsewhere. "We're leaving, together..."

"Yes, we-"

She held up her fingers to let Vash know she needed no explanation. "My things...?"

"Packed them." He held out her cloak, which she took and pulled on, tugging the hood over her head.

She walked after him to the toma and let him help boost her onto its saddle. "Thank you," she murmured.

Without another word, the two brothers walked out upon the sands, reins wrapped round Vash's wrist. Slumping, weary and sore, the strange girl sat upon the two-legged bird-like creature which trudged along behind the men, broad tail swishing to the left and right. The sky was filled with moons and stars, glowing brighter as the three distanced themselves from town and traveled deeper into the Gunsmoke wasteland that offered them no comfort, save silence.


	12. Where

They had walked about ten iles north of town, and it was time to rest. Stopping at the ridge of a steep dune, Vash pointed down into the valley it created at the bottom. "We should camp here till sunrise." He began a controlled slide down the dune, toma toeing gracefully after him.

Vanessa braced herself against the saddle, grip tight on the leather edge of it. "And tomorrow?"

Upon reaching the flat, Vash dropped his pack into the sand. "Not sure. There are some settlements not too far from here. Gravois in particular, it's a den of thugs, but it'd be a good place to hide for a while." He held out a hand to help her from the mount.

"Ridiculous," Knives scoffed, stepping deliberately down the slope. "Running from one hive to another? There are several places I used to stay. One is approximately a 2 days walk north from May City. Completely isolated."

"That's nowhere near here, past some really treacherous terrain," Vash argued, watching as Vanessa ignored his hand and plopped down into the sand on her own. She faltered and fell on one knee, and sat back as though she'd meant to land that way. "Knives, those places you're talking about, the places you kept your fanatics and your gang – those terrible people? There's surely somebody still living there, and I don't want to meet them. Even if they were a reasonable distance from here. Not to mention they're without bulbs so there's no direct water supply."

Knives stepped forward to assist in unloading the toma. "We'll discuss this tomorrow. Suffice to say I'm glad to be away from that forsaken place. Where did you pack the flint; I want to make a fire."

"Don't," Vanessa snapped. "Someone might see the smoke."

"Let them," Knives announced. "If they come, I've a good reason to slay the fools."

Vanessa narrowed her eyes at him, trying to judge how serious he was. She tugged the folds of sandy-colored cloak about her in the cold, desert night.

"We need to get some sleep," Vash suggested.

"Where's my bag," she murmured.

Vash obliged to pull her bag from his own and handed it to her, then tossed Knives a rolled up sleeping bag.

Stepping unsteadily several yards away, Vanessa curled up on the sand with her head resting on her bag.

"Tell me what they did to her," Knives demanded, staring down at the sleeping bag he'd unrolled, not bothering to be quiet with his comment.

"We're tired."

"And we're sleeping in the desert tonight. Why is that, hmm?"

Vash sighed as though the story was boring to tell. "There was a misunderstanding. They saw her ears and they were afraid. I'm sure everything would have worked out soundly. But I told them all who I was, because I figured you'd just kill them all without a thought if I didn't end the whole thing right away. I scared them, and it worked and now we're out here. Change of scenery."

"Don't sound so casual. She's hurt. I said I didn't want her to leave us; look what happened-"

"Everything's fine, now, okay?" Vash insisted, pulling away the ties on his sleeping bag. "Drop it, we're tired!"

"To what great end, to what justice does your misguided philosophy lead you?" his twin argued further, voice rising in anger. "It's bad enough you've endangered yourself with this nonsense, now she-"

"I didn't cause it, I ended it. But whatever, blame me if that's what you have to do."

"I blame you, and I blame them, and I blame her, too," Knives snarled, thrusting his pointed finger toward her. "Have either of you any sense of self-preservation in you? You let them-"

"Shut up!" she yelled. "Both of you – shut! Up!" Her fists tugged her cloak up to her eyes, which glared down at the sand between them.

It seemed to Vash that Knives looked rather flustered, his expression screwed up in anger and discomfort. He stood staring off at the dune.

Vash ran his hands through his spiked hair and sighed. He stepped a few feet closer to where she lay in the sand and held out his sleeping bag. He gently offered, "Here, take my-"

"Don't want it," she snapped, voice muffled beneath the fold of her cloak.

Frowning, he rubbed his hair and walked back. He lay out his bag beside his brother's, climbed into it, and shut his eyes. He listened for Knives to finally climb into his own, and once he heard the slow breathing of sleep beside him, he let himself do the same.

Vash slept through the night, but his dreams were troubled and left him confused and queasy once the initial hints of first sunrise over the edge of the dune prompted him to wake. He turned his head to the side, noting that Knives was still asleep, arm thrown over his eyes. Rolling his head to the other side, he yawned aloud, but stopped mid-way when he saw her bag lying alone in the sand. Jolting awake, he rose up on his elbows, and breathed relief when he spotted her past his feet, sitting in the sand with her knees drawn up. Her eyes met his, over the tops of her knees. For a moment, Vash sat there, propped on his arms, wondering if he should say good morning, or something.

She broke the silence first. "Which one of you is actually The Stampede?"

"Um, well, my name _is_ Vash."

"He's the one snarling about killing people and slaying people and all of this. I'm guessing he's made good on that, once or twice, and it got pinned on his twin brother."

"He-" Stopping himself, Vash looked back at Knives, who was still breathing deeply, calm, only a few feet away. He dropped his voice. "We've both done a lot of very bad things. That's in the past, when he was going by 'Millions Knives' and-"

"Never heard of him." Her eyes glanced down at her lap again. "But you – I've seen the posters, I've heard stories. Your head is worth sixty billion."

Smiling, he itched his neck. "You don't want to collect, do you?"

"The hole in the moon. July."

Vash frowned.

"I saw July, after. Since then, I've wondered how anyone could be so _stupid_ as to think one man could do that. Does it have to do with what we are? I mean, we're not human. At all. Are we..."

Clutching his right hand to his chest, he didn't look up. "We're just people. If we want to be."

"And he doesn't want to be," she added. "He thinks he's a god or something."

Vash held his finger to his lips.

"He leveled July, right? With what, a bomb?"

Tossing his head to the side, Vash gestured at his brother.

She kept speaking, and not quietly. "You made it sound like you're brothers with a disagreement – but this, this is more than that, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. It's important."

"Tell me what you're trying to change his mind about."

"Knives, you can stop pretending to be asleep," Vash mumbled.

"How can he deserve a second chance, after destroying July?" she continued.

"Vanessa, he can hear every word." He poked his brother with his elbow, but he didn't stir.

"Fine, keep me in the dark," she murmured, eyes turned down to her lap again.

Vash saw Knives' arm draw slowly away from his face, saw him blink awake. He didn't turn to see his brother scoot up from the ground. But in his peripheral, he thought Knives looked surprised, to see her sitting there, facing them like this. And it occurred to him that he'd have expected his brother to pipe in on the conversation, but he hadn't said a thing.

"Are we ready to leave?" Knives asked, rolling up his sleeping bag. "Shall we discuss where we're headed?"

"Let's not," Vanessa replied, voice tinged with aggression. She stood and closed her book, fastening it at her belt. "You won't listen to suggestions anyway."

"Hmph. Leave the book behind. If you're going to carry weight it should be something necessary," he lectured. "Materialism is a human weakness we have no need for. Objects are merely that – things to be used and discarded as they become useless to us."

"Why must everything be an argument, with you? I'm keeping my book," she replied, annoyed. She tugged on her backpack and, struggling against the slope, stormed up and away to the west.

"Turn around, we're going east!" Knives shouted. "North and east!" Turning, he expected Vash would have a word for him, but instead his brother silently packed everything onto the toma, eyes to his work. Knives assisted because he wanted to hurry. She was out of his sight and he did not like it.

The brothers climbed the slope of the dune, Vash again holding the toma leash, both with lighter loads than before because the toma took most of their burden. At the top, they saw the cloaked woman in the distance, due west.

"Go. Retrieve her," Knives commanded.

"Why? Do you think I'm going to say, 'Hey let's do what Knives wants,' and she's going to be, 'Oh sure, if you say so...'? No, I think we're going west today. It's the opposite of what you said you wanted to do, and she's got every reason to be angry with you."

"And what good is west?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm just saying, today can go one of two ways. We make her do what you want to do, take away more of her free will. Or, we go west." He started after her.

Knives followed, gesturing out toward the girl in the distance. "You realize there's nothing out this way. There's Westwood, which is obviously not hospitable anymore, and nothingness."

"Yeah, I know that. She does, too."

"I suppose if it puts her in less of a sour mood, it'd be worth it."

Vash only stared forward, and kept his silence.

Vanessa expected to be stopped. When they did not, instead following at a comfortable distance, the tension in her chest loosened some. After a couple of hours of walking, the suns beat down on her. She became thirsty, and the toma following Vash carried all of the water. Her stomach ached from the blow the night before. Every step took her further from a source of water or shelter better than a tent. There would be nothing in this direction. With a sigh, she halted.

Holding his arm out across his brother's chest, Vash signaled that they should stop, too. He was relieved to see her turn and walk toward them.

Stepping around them, hood still obscuring her face, she lifted a canteen from the toma's saddle and drank half of it in greedy gulps. Screwing its top back into place, she spoke up, "Where did you want to go?"

Vash and Knives looked at each other, wondering which she was asking. Vash cleared his throat. "We have water for four more days, then we'll need to stop in a town to refill. Westwood and Bering aren't options from here, so we have Vale and Lobos to choose from if we head either straight east from here or straight northeast."

"I meant, long-run. Where are we going to end up."

"Our most viable options are all east of here," Knives offered. "We have plenty of time to talk about it."

Vanessa began to walk east, and heard them do the same, not quite so far behind as before. She smiled, in spite of herself, but then drew her mouth back, wondering why she had smiled in the first place.


	13. Yes, Feathers

"...which leads me to the conclusion, she may have remained in the bulb for a time after birth. We had been promptly removed, but if she'd been left inside she could have adapted to the environment, developed the angel-like characteristics, one could also assume the gate would travel toward the spine."

His brother's mind was elsewhere as he stared ahead through his orange-tinted glasses. "Mm Hmm," Vash mumbled back, folding up his cloak and stepping back for a moment to pack it and his brother's away before continuing on. He wiped the sweat away from his forehead with his sleeve.

"Well, I think it's plausible, though the timeline I'm unclear on." Knives abruptly raised his voice and called out, "Vanessa, at what age were you extracted? From the bulb?"

She stopped, and slowly turned. "What?"

Vash waved his hands. "Knives, that's rude."

Knives shrugged. "I don't see why. At what age?"

"Didn't have a calendar in there."

"So you remember it. You'd be several months, at least. Could you approximate your age to a human, at the time you were removed?"

"This high," she responded simply, holding her hand up to just above her waist.

"Most of a year. Plenty of time for the gate to move, but not enough to change you completely. I'm guessing, of course, but that explains it."

Vanessa pulled off her cloak as they had, because it was mid-day and too warm to wear the extra layer. She pressed the fabric onto her neck and forehead to absorb sweat before tucking it around the back strap of her bag. After a moment, she gave in. "And by 'gate' you mean..."

"The source of our power." He pointed at his left forearm, exposed since the shirt he wore had no sleeves. "It's small enough to rest between the bones here. The angels have them at their spines; the organ that allows us to create and destroy outside of the classic 'rules' of physics. Anyway, yours is beside your spine, so-"

"So, it was in my arm when I was born but it moved to my back because I was-"

"Becoming an angel." Knives reflected on that before continuing. "What you called a hump was actually a component to the gate."

She thought back on Knives' plant 'test,' and began to piece it together. Her bag dropped to the ground. Her hand reached over her shoulder to feel at the skin of her back.

"Your gate is not intact," Knives murmured sadly. He sounded as though delivering very horrible news.

Vanessa kept trying to feel for something like a gate, or part of one. "Where is it..."

"It's here..." Knives directed, stepping behind her. He reached out a hand to touch, but Vash slapped it away, shaking his head. "Between and below the shoulder blades, on the right side. Lower. Closer to the vertebrae. Yes. There."

"Hmm." She pressed her fingers into a fleshy lump, moving it around slightly a few times before she was satisfied.

Watching her accept a canteen from Vash, Knives turned his head away to survey the wasteland. He was surprised that she did not mourn the loss of her full potential, but was relieved it did not upset her.

Vanessa sat against her pack as she pinned her hair away from her neck.

"I am glad that we found her, that she's with us now."

Vash didn't reply to his brother's telepathy. He checked the packs on the toma instead.

"She has much to teach me," Knives continued, handing a canteen back to his brother.

Frowning, Vash still said nothing. As he offered water to the toma, Vash heard in his head very clearly, "Her breasts are mesmerizing."

He glanced aside casually to see her arms over her head, braiding and pinning. Relenting to speak mind to mind in reply, Vash shot back, "Stop looking; it's rude."

"You're looking, too."

Turning his eyes to the sand, Vash replied silently, "Well, stop talking about them..."

Knives' laughter sounded in his brother's head, causing Vash to turn back to the toma and add, "I've seen breasts on women that make hers seem like nothing. This one lady, she had 'em the size of-"

"Perhaps we have different taste. Are there human women with such a shade of hair, or this aquatic color in their eyes?"

"You want a pencil and some paper, to start writing poetry?" Vash chuckled in thought. "Plants, we're all light-eyed, fair-haired, and we're made to all be the same. Admiring her, you're admiring the female-version of yourself. There are women with dark skin and hair who are so lovely you lose yourself in their deep, dark eyes."

"Then, you can have them. It's bestiality, so I cannot condone it. But, if you have needs you cannot control, so be it."

"They're not animals. I'm talking women. They're...awesome. Better than going for centuries with only the company of Ole' Righty. Or in your case, Ole' Lefty..."

"Hilarious."

Vash smirked at his joke, but it didn't seem so funny after a second or so.

Vanessa pulled on her pack, and began walking, not so far out this time.

After a period of time, Vanessa broke the silence. "So, you both have a gate organ in your left arm that makes blades? Why don't you use yours?" she asked, pointing at Vash's gloved, wrapped arm.

"It's in my other arm," Vash explained. "This one's not real."

"That's a prosthetic? No way." She grabbed for it and felt up his arm to find the end of it. "I've seen this arm with the wrappings gone; it looks like a regular arm." Fingers finding the metal interruption just below his shoulder, she began to believe him. "Can I see the connection? Who made this?"

Vash unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it away from his shoulder so she could see the prosthetic base for a moment. "There's a ship still flying, and there are people there who-"

"We should go _there_!" she suggested, squeezing his fake arm hopefully.

"Sorry, no," Vash replied quickly.

"I want to ask how they set this up..."

"We can't go there." He flexed his faux fingers and went to buttoning his shirt closed. "Knives would _not_ be welcome."

Vanessa breathed out a sigh of disappointment.

"Aren't you going to ask how he acquired the scars?" Knives chimed in. The sight of his brother's skin had a way of darkening his mood instantly.

She shrugged. "I'm more interested in the quality of the arm. If your brother wants to recount the stories of his skin, he'll do that. Vash?"

"Yeah, rather not," he agreed glumly.

Knives' face took on a very serious expression. "The sickening roadmap of his scars...you should hear the horrors they've done; you should see them all."

"Saw plenty of them while stitching up that stab wound his sweet brother gave him."

Knives made a sound like a low grunt, and kept scanning the horizon. "That was from me, but the rest were from the humans. They carved their hate into his body. It takes the breath away, to see it."

Vanessa stared ahead. "As a medical professional, I do not register shock; it's unkind."

They passed the late day with few words. Vanessa didn't complain, but Vash noticed the way she was dragging her feet, the difficulty she began to have to walk in a straight line. He wondered if she had a concussion, and convinced his brother that they should set up camp early. He dug out something for them all to eat while Knives and Vanessa rested on the flat plane of sand. As the first sunset, Vanessa curled up on her bag and, though she struggled against her blinking eyes, she fell asleep as the sky lit up red. The few loose strands of her hair fell over her eyes and moved slightly with her breath.

The twins sat, chewing at dried food, not speaking. Eventually, Knives pulled out the sleeping bags, upon second sunset. He watched his brother pull out his cloak, and step quietly over to her. She'd be cold soon, without any cover. Knives tossed his own cloak to Vash, offering it as a blanket also, and he watched as Vash draped it over her carefully. Satisfied, they lay down to sleep.

The desert that night was without a breeze, silent. So silent, that Vash heard the crisp sound of a book page turn, and he cracked his eye open. It was not quite morning, and in the faint light he saw her kneeling nearby with the book open in the crook of her arm.

"What is your disagreement?" she asked, aqua eyes shining in the five moons' light.

"Vanessa, am I going to wake up to an inquisition every day?" He yawned, pulling his knees to his chest, resting his chin on his knee as he looked to her. "Were you watching me sleep? That kinda freaks me out."

"Does it have to do with something someone did to you, that he's angry about? Revenge?"

He looked over his shoulder to see that Knives was still asleep. "Not just to me. He's angry about what humans have done to our species since the beginning," he whispered.

"What do you mean? I don't know very much about plants, apparently."

Vash shook his head. "It's a long, long, long story. It would take...days...to explain everything."

"Give me a synopsis."

"I don't know..." Speaking in a louder tone, Vash responded, "Should I begin with our life on S.E.E.D.S.?" He watched the slow, calm rise and fall of his brother's chest.

"Seeds? The wrecked ships?"

"They weren't wrecked yet when we were born. I would imagine Knives would like to help me explain..."

"I'd rather hear it from you."

"Which is why the sound of us talking isn't waking him up." Vash sighed. "You did the same thing to me back at the house, didn't you?"

She said nothing.

"It's okay. I mean, you're not hurting anybody, right? So, I'm not going to stop you. Or take the book away. Better not use that on me anymore, though, and better keep it a secret from Mr. Personality."

"That would be best." Her heart beat quick in her throat. "Please, tell me what this...this disagreement is. What's at stake?"

"You can't keep using your book on him. Whatever you call it, you can't keep doing this; he'll figure it out."

"I'm only doing this because I want to understand. It seems like you and I are stuck with him, and you know the history of this, but me? Not knowing is...terribly unnerving."

Vash frowned. He thought a moment. Crawling out of his sleeping bag, he gestured toward a cliff edge not far away. "Let's get out of sight; I can show you what's going on, but it'll probably wake him up when I do."

"That's not likely."

"He'll feel it, and I don't want him to know how to do this. No." Stopping himself, Vash crossed his arms and turned back. "Nevermind, this is a bad idea. I'll just have to try to explain over time."

She shook her head. "If you can clue me in quickly, you need to do it. Now." Standing, she walked to the cliff edge and hopped down onto the sand below.

Vash sighed, following. She was waiting for him, and asked, "So is this some kind of arm gate angel thing?"

"Yeah, something like that. I can show you memories, but I don't know if it's a good idea. Once, I did this to Meryl. There was an accident. My feathers-"

"Feathers? Actual feathers?" she asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, in a neutral-state I can sprout feathers. Apparently, when the feathers come in contact with someone else it transfers memories instantaneously. Meryl got...stuck that way. It was very unpleasant for her."

"Don't hesitate. Show me. I get the impression that what he did to me was _nothing_ compared to what he's done before, to whoever. You allude to a lot of things – epic things – unbelievable things." She snatched his right hand up in her own, pressing his palm against her face. Staring at him through his fingers, she added, "You're sharing your problems with me now. Might as well share your memories, too."

He pulled his hand away, frowning.

"Please, Vash. Hurry."

Vash sighed, and pivoted to put his back against wall of the cliff. "Hold onto my arm. No, the fake one. I want you to let go, and I'll let you fall backward, when you want to stop. It's just sand behind you. So, just let go. Okay?"

"I've got it."

"This is a bad idea." Taking one long breath, Vash began to concentrate. It wasn't hard to open his gate, but it was difficult to control it completely. He held his arm out, away from her, as glowing feather-like things snaked out of the skin of his fingertips. Once a dozen or so were there, and he was confident he could keep it that way, he thought of the few, specific memories he would show to her, and he moved his hand toward her face.

Knives' eyes shot open. Remembering where he was, processing the feeling that had woken him, he saw that he was alone, and he called out with great concern, "Vash!"

"I'm over here! Everything's fine."

Knives climbed up from the ground and walked toward his brother. He began to ask where she was, but stopped when he saw her climbing the rocky edge to the flat on which he stood. "What happened."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Vash explained, "She wanted to see what my arm looked like, too. Sorry it woke you."

"You showed her? Good. She's not hurt?"

Vanessa rubbed at her shoulders, not looking up. She stepped over to her bag and curled up beside it.

"She's fine. Let's rest for the last hour of dark," Vash suggested, climbing back into his sleeping bag. Hearing his brother do the same, he cracked one eye open just enough to see Vanessa hide her face in the cloaks.


	14. It's Not Easy, to Say I'm Sorry

When, come morning, Knives walked out of sight to take his turn to relieve himself below the cliff, Vash looked up from rolling away the sleeping bags. He had heard Vanessa grind her teeth during the night, and worried he'd scared her more than he'd thought he had by sharing a memory of one of the twins' arguments laced within a battle. She'd been quiet all morning, head bowed low. "Are you okay?"

She pulled their cloaks around herself tightly. Having spent the last few hours attempting to mentally recover from the memory exchange, she was just starting to piece it into coherence, and it was a profound, almost crushing realization. Closing her eyes, she saw scenes from Vash's past. "150 years is a lot to take in at once, but...I understand everything now."

Vash scratched at his hair. It'd only lasted a moment. How could she have seen his whole life story, so easily? Could this be because she was a plant? "I hadn't meant to show you so much, I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologize to me – ever again," she whispered, brow knitted though she wouldn't look him in the eye. She sat up, and held out the cloaks to him. "You should be sorry for nothing. What I saw, I understand that...I'll do anything to help you, Vash. Tell me what I can do?"

Vash opened his mouth to question what she'd said, but saw in his peripheral Knives approaching.

Finishing off the little water left in a canteen, Knives pulled on a pack and pointed northeast. "We'll need to stop for provisions in the next small town."

"If it's a friendly place we should just stay there a while," Vash muttered, watching Vanessa wring her hands nervously.

"Vash, I will not suffer to live near humans again. You'd thought Bering was 'friendly;' I'm afraid you're a terrible judge of that." Knives gestured northeast again. "I have residences we can journey to."

"Those will not be friendly places either," Vash argued, gesturing east. "There are several towns to choose from; we need water and a roof over our heads."

Knives shook his head. "I won't see her hurt by them again."

Lifting her chin, she locked eyes with Knives, somehow startling him with her expression. "We should turn south."

"South of here lies only March, a place thick with vermin," he countered, voice lowering, quieting.

"We can restock in March, and go south from there. I know of a place. If people like us belong anyplace...I can take us there."

"Can you be more specific?"

"Suffice to say it's unlike anywhere else known on the planet. Completely isolated. It's my secret, but I'm willing to share it with you both, if you'll trust me to take you there." She studied Knives' expression, then glanced to Vash and her eyes went quickly back to Knives'.

"Completely isolated," Knives repeated. He nodded and began walking south.

Vanessa pulled on her pack and waited for Vash to follow, toma in tow, her heart pounding.

"Completely isolated," Vash muttered to himself.

"I'm sorry, Vash, but in March maybe there will be children to play with while we pass through," she spoke up in reply.

Knives called back, "What is she talking about?"

Vash shrugged. "She knows I like being around people."

"A tendency I hope you don't also share..."

"Not me," she replied with eyes downcast. "I'm not as strong as your brother. He's overflowing with love for them. If he has the chance to play with their children in March we should give that to him."

Knives let a grin spread over his face. Tipping his head back, he began laughing.

Walking alongside her, Vash noticed her hands ball into fists at her sides. "Don't let him get to you; he's not laughing at you, he's laughing at me," he whispered.

"I know," Vanessa whispered back. Slowing to be just a few steps behind Vash, she glared at the back of the man walking out in front of them. "You suffer him too much."

"Hmm, what was that?"

"Oh, nothing."

They walked in silence for the next few hours till noon, mouths drawn tightly shut, fair eyes squinting in the bright, harsh sunlight. No one spoke, even silently, until they could just see the glittering of March on the horizon. Knives, who'd been fidgeting and seemed distracted, called over his shoulder that they should rest before heading into town.

"Uh huh," Vash replied, turning to see that Vanessa acknowledged this. He saw her close her book and quickly tuck it away, and he stared until she finally met his gaze. Her expression seemed odd to him, and he narrowed his eyes somewhat accusingly. In response, she simply looked away.

Sighing uneasily, Vash turned to get a drink from the toma's baggage. He paused from lifting a canteen to his lips to stare at his brother, who was unscrewing a canteen with his teeth. Knives' eyes caught his, and he turned his back to them.

Breathing out with more hesitation, Vash tried to focus on March, on how this would go. Should he ask Knives to stay outside city limits while he went in for supplies? Should Vanessa come with him, and would his brother allow that? Could he maybe sneak in a little time to play with kids?

Vanessa accepted the canteen from Vash and took a few gulps, then began to walk toward town. After checking the strap tightness around the toma's belly, Vash turned to follow. He looked around for his brother, and finally spotted him kneeling in the sand, sort of hugging at his right arm with his left.

"Knives? Ready to go?"

Saying nothing, Knives stood and walked after Vanessa, still clutching at his arm.

"You forgot to put the cap back on," Vash mumbled, closing up the canteen Knives had drunk from.

The three walked on for a few minutes, until finally Vash spoke up. "What's wrong?"

Vanessa looked back, eyebrows up.

Shaking his head while rubbing at the cloak over his arm, Knives pursed his lips. "I'm not sure."

Vash cast his eyes toward Vanessa, who offered, "Cramp? Muscle spasm?"

Knives shook his head. "I can't move my arm. Or feel it," he explained quietly, squeezing at his flesh while he spoke.

Vash flashed accusation at her again, and though Vanessa saw his face for a moment she quickly turned her attention back to Knives. Vash began, "Vanessa..."

"Yeah, I can take a look," she replied helpfully, pretending not to hear the blame in his voice.

Pulling his cloak over his shoulder to rest against his pack, Knives stared down at his limp right arm. Pointing in a horizontal line just below his bicep, he explained below that was where the feeling stopped. He watched in silence as she pressed her fingers into it on various places.

She felt his pulse at his elbow, asked him a flurry of questions about symptoms to which he answered, 'no,' and crossed her arms in thought for a moment. "Doesn't seem like a stroke."

"A stroke!?" Vash repeated.

"_Not_ a stroke," Knives corrected through gritted teeth.

"Right, I don't believe there's anything physically wrong with you. Are you faking for attention?" she asked suspiciously.

Knives scoffed. "This is _not_ a _joke_."

"Well, it's not funny," she agreed. "Maybe you aren't faking on purpose. I'd say it's psychological."

"That's ridiculous. Something's wrong; you just can't tell what," Knives argued.

Vanessa shrugged. "It's all in your head. There's nothing wrong with your arm."

"Ridiculous." Knives pulled his cloak back over his arm and stormed off toward March.

Before she could follow, Vash put his hand on her shoulder. She jerked away, but stopped.

"Did you give him a stroke?" Vash whispered angrily. "Or something?"

She stared back seriously. "S'not permanent."

"Well, undo it. Don't play games; you'll get hurt," he snapped. "I told you, don't use-"

"I'm helping. Don't worry," she insisted quietly, stepping away and toward town.

Vash kept his mouth shut, clenching his teeth. He wanted to shout at her, to not try to help; that he didn't want her to get hurt; he didn't want anyone else to get hurt. It had occurred to him that her abilities might be of great help should things go sour with Knives, if lives were at stake. But, no, he couldn't let himself think that. It would be so cruel to involve her, and cruel to do such a thing to his brother. Tempting, but cruel.

The anxiety Knives felt made his temple throb, caused his stomach to tense into nausea. He put his hand into his cloak and scratched at the skin on his arm that felt foreign, felt that it must be someone else's, like it was a mistake. His mind was on his arm, as he walked with his fellow plant angels toward March, as they entered March, as he seated himself on a park bench that Vash motioned him toward. Sitting, hearing the buzz of humans about him, he felt bile rise in his throat. Psychological? How could that be? He stared down at the skin beneath his fingernails.

"Careful."

Abruptly pulled from his thoughts, Knives' eyes jolted upward.

Vanessa seated herself beside him on the bench, folding her hands in her lap. She self-consciously touched the braided hair pinned over her ears. "Don't scratch till you bleed. Just try to calm down. Think."

Without turning his head, Knives' gaze followed a trio of armed human men as they passed on the road across from the bench.

"There's a reason for the paralysis."

"What," he snapped, eyes back on her. He didn't bother to hide his fear.

"I don't know. I think _you_ do." She kept staring out, halfway listening to the conversations and footsteps of the humans bustling around them.

"If I knew, I would end this. You should check it again."

Shaking her head slowly, Vanessa frowned. "Search your mind. Why would your arm be numb? What can you think of, having to do with an arm; fear of not feeling your arm? Something your arm did? Are you afraid of losing it like Vash lost his?"

Knives' eyes widened for a moment, and he looked down at the limp hand cradled in his other.

"Well, you've got to breathe deeply. Calm yourself. I'm sure you'll recover if you can solve whatever dilemma you're having. Be at peace with what's bothering you, forgive yourself or somebody or what have you."

They sat silent for a while, till Vash walked up, his pack heavy with supplies. "They didn't have rice. We'll have to check another store. Knives, why are you looking at me like that..."

Standing, Knives grabbed the strap of Vash's bag from his shoulder and tugged it away to set the bag on the bench beside Vanessa. He ushered his brother a few steps away, toward the town square's memorial statue. His face was very serious, and Vash didn't ask questions; he just waited.

"Vash. When I cut off your arm," Knives began in a whisper, eyes darting to and fro. "On that day, I shouldn't...I overreacted. That was unnecessary. I would undo that if I could."

Vash glanced over Knives' shoulder at Vanessa, who had her book open, on her lap, all the sudden. "Is this about your arm?"

"Yes, but beside that as well. You would have allowed it to be thoroughly scarred, but you would _have_ a left arm today if it weren't for me." Knives took a deep breath. "I feel I should offer my apology to you."

"Hmm."

Knives raised his eyes to his brother's. He clutched his limp arm, frowning. "I did this to you. I am sorry now."

Vash gulped. He felt a couple of fat tears slide down his cheeks, and he looked away.

"Forgive me, Vash," Knives asked in a hushed voice.

Nodding once, Vash blinked hard. He crossed his arms and glanced again at Vanessa, who had sort of a smile on her face as she turned to another page she had bookmarked with her finger. Looking back at his brother, he gestured at his limp arm. "Feel any better?" He hesitated, and play-punched Knives in the right arm.

"Ow." After a tic, Knives' expression lit up. "I felt that." Lifting his limp wrist with his other hand, he stared down as his fingers moved slightly.

Vash noticed Vanessa close her book and put it away at her side, and he ushered his brother back to the bench.

Vanessa pointed at Knives' wiggling fingers. "Was it all in your head?"

Knives dropped his arm at his side, under his cloak, smirking slightly.

Rubbing his tears away with his forearm, Vash's teeth were gritted together as he sought to change the subject. "So, maybe that other general store will have some rice, like, what, a 20 lb bag?"

"So we haven't the time for you to play?" Vanessa asked, pulling the straps of her backpack over her cloak.

Sighing audibly, Knives stared off to the side. "If it is such an important thing, we can wait a while longer." He thought back on the moment earlier, sitting with her on the bench, and how without his anxiety over his arm such a thing would be rather pleasant.

"Kids are in school right now," Vash replied dismissively. He untied the toma bridle strap from a nearby post, muttering, "The toma can probably handle two 20 lb bags."


	15. Fifteen Feet Down

The heat became more intense and horrid the further south they journeyed. The inhuman group had shed their cloaks; Vash donned his orange sunglasses though they kept slipping down his nose from all the sweat. He stared ahead at Vanessa, who had rolled up her sleeves and pinned up her hair but wasn't complaining about the temperature. She seemed to expect it.

Vash began to worry. They were in the wasteland – not ordinary wasteland, but true no-man's-land. No one lived out here because they couldn't. There was no ship wreckage this far south on the planet. The buzzards who'd been circling overhead hours ago were noticeably absent. They'd all been drinking far more water than during normal travel, to replenish what they were losing from constant sweat. Even when they camped, they were sticky from the heat. There seemed to be little relief from it, and on this, the second day south of March, the heat was so overpowering it was getting hard to breathe.

Perhaps Vanessa's way of 'helping' would be to simply lead them as far away from civilization as possible, to die of exposure. The twins were durable fellows, but if she were to put them into a coma out there, it would be easy enough for them to die. Vash thought to speak up, to complain, to at least beg some information from her even if it were lies, but he kept his words to himself.

His brother said nothing, panting from the heat quietly. Occasionally scanning the horizon for a sign of anything resembling shelter, he finished off another canteen, and, swallowing hard, checked the others for weight.

"How much further?"

Knives waited silently for her to answer his brother's question.

"Hurry," she called over her shoulder, trudging along at a steady pace though she dragged her feet in the sand.

Vash stopped, heaving a sigh. "Vanessa, c'mon, are we talking another day? A week? My insides are boiling."

"Not much longer. A sandstorm's stirring up ahead, we can't stop to rest."

"A sandstorm!?"

"If we keep walking we'll be fine!" She was a great deal ahead of them, such that Knives could hardly hear her.

As day gave way to night, the air turned against them, whipping granules of sand into the air. To keep from inhaling it, they had to keep their mouths shut. Knives was sure their bodies were as weary as his own, that they yearned to stop and sleep as he did. The terrain was rough, and he stumbled as the sting at his face became difficult to tolerate. One could admire the strangely-shaped rock protrusions they walked around if one were able to look up. Only occasionally did he lift his eyes, and then only to check for the purple blur of her dress ahead of them.

After a few hours, the sky was thick with sediment which kept them in the dark and the howling wind forced Vash to yell for Vanessa to hear him when he asked, "What are we looking for?"

Knives, squinting, saw her disappear behind another rock formation, head turning to and fro, before walking to another.

She didn't reply, perhaps because it was so difficult to hear one another out there, and instead she grabbed the reins from Vash, who relented them with a frown. When she stepped from behind a pair of high rocks up ahead, the toma could not be seen. Vash jogged over.

Knives waited a moment before following. Between the shield-like structures of rock, the toma's reins were lashed through a wind-bore hole around a thin edge of stone. The wind hurt a little less within this partial shelter than it had otherwise. "Wherever we're headed, I trust we plan to rest here until this storm passes," he communicated to his brother in mind.

Looking up with an expression of great concern, Vash didn't look confident that they were in a favorable position. He went back to staring out into the dark.

Knives' gaze followed, and with a dry gulp he worried that he couldn't spot her anymore. He pressed his palm against the edge of the stone, leaning out into the night. Eyes scanning the horizon, he blinked hard against sand trying very hard to get into the delicate parts of his eye, and finally he saw her. She was gliding her feet around the sand as a child might draw in the sand with their toes. "What is she thinking?" he asked his brother silently. Looking to his brother, he mentally began, "I'm going to drag her back for her own sake if-"

He was interrupted by the sudden gasp and movement from his twin. Vash jolted forward and dashed out into the night. Rushing over there, over here, he finally slid to a stop and fell to his knees.

"What happened," Knives commanded silently.

"She fell – into the ground!" Vash yelled up at him. He was gesturing at the sand, where Knives saw a large metal ring.

Crouching, Knives felt the edge, identifying the object as a trash can lid, overturned, filled with sand and rocks. Beside this, there was, in fact, a hole, a little smaller in diameter than the lid was. He pulled his legs forward to jump down, but a hand on his chest stopped him.

"We don't know how deep this goes; we're no help to anybody if we break our legs in a fall," Vash explained in his head.

"You're far from reassuring, Vash," he responded in mind, and even though the sentence wasn't verbal, Vash heard the rising pitch and the worry in it. "Vanessa!" Knives yelled down into the hole. He tried to peer down, but it was pitch black.

"I'll get rope," Vash offered silently, bracing himself against the raging storm as he stood.

Knives tugged at his brother's wrist before he was fully on his feet, so that he turned to also see her head pop up.

She cupped her hand around her mouth and waited for them to lean forward to where they could hear her. "Unload the toma; toss everything down here." Then, she disappeared back down.

The brothers hurried to do so, lugging everything on their shoulders to the hole. The toma was uncomfortable but would be fine in weather more native to it than to them. After lowering and letting go everything, the brothers glanced at each other before Knives turned and stuck his foot into the hole. His boot found a rung, of a rope ladder, and he began to climb downward, just barely squeezing through the narrow passage.

When his boot met what felt like one of the rice sacks, he carefully found footing to the side of the ladder, and glanced up to see that he was a bit more than fifteen feet below ground. He could see nothing, but heard the roar of the wind overhead, and a whistling sound somewhere in the area he found himself in. Hands running along the wall, it was smooth and irregular, like flesh turned to stone.

"Pull the lid over the door," Vanessa's voice echoed from somewhere within.

Above him, his brother did as asked, sealing away most of the howling sounds and all of the light. Vash's arm waved about and found his brother's shoulder. He gripped it, and felt Knives' hand hold his arm to help him find footing. They both stood still and looked around, waiting for their eyes to adjust to light, but there was none.

Vash cleared his throat, or tried to, then broke the silence softly. "Well, it's nice and cool down here."

Knives nodded in the dark, the air chilling the sweat on his skin.

He was blinded for a second by a flash of light, blinked a few times, and saw that the cave was dimly lit all of the sudden. There were mirrors hanging here and there, reflecting light around from some unseen source. The brothers stood agape at the marvelous stalactites and stalagmites of the cave, color-banded rock and sediment, slick, shiny surfaces. The cave ceiling was comfortably high, and the cavern stretched out to the sides in rolling, folded shapes. Vash stepped out from the ladder into the cavity, but slipped and nearly fell.

Stepping round a wall of rock, Vanessa reached deep within the crevice of the rock along the side, and came out with armfuls of bedding. Dropping it all atop a makeshift platform off to the side, she instructed, "Take off your boots."

Knives saw his brother lean down and unbuckle the straps of his boots and stand barefoot on the uneven, smooth stone. When he watched him walk out across the cave floor with ease, he followed suit and a chill ran through him as he walked forward.

It was hardly well lit within, as the sandstorm outside blocked most of the moonlight, but they could squint to see supplies stashed within the crevices of the cave, a cutting board table, and they stepped lower and lower into the cave till Vash knelt at the edge of the stone. He dipped his arm low, and brought it back to make dripping sounds that echoed in the space.

Vanessa stepped over silently and knelt near him, grabbing a nearby bucket, dunking it down and lifting it back. She held it high and overturned it, dunking herself in water. She gasped.

Knives accepted the bucket from her hand and pulled water from the pool to do the same. As his brother drew water from cupped hands to drink, Knives pulled off his vest, and poured the water over his head and shoulders. The sand rolled away from his skin. It felt so cold, and so wonderful. He scooped up another to repeat.

Having walked away for a moment to retrieve a metal ladle, she sat at the pool's edge to draw out a drink.

Knives handed the bucket to his brother, and Vash filled it and brought the bucket-full to his mouth, and drank greedily. He let out a satisfied sigh and set the bucket on the ground.

Drinking from the borrowed ladle, Knives watched a moment, then grabbed the bucket and dropped its contents on Vash's head.

"Ahh!" Vash yelled, startled by the temperature.

Knives turned up his nose. "You still smell horrible," he assessed, refilling and tossing another load of cold, cold water.

Vash waved his arms about defensively, as if one could block Knives' attack of water. His brother chuckled at him.

She began to laugh, the sound echoing against the stone and water. This prompted Vash to begin laughing as well, but Knives fell silent, just smiling.

Vanessa's eye caught Knives staring at her, though pleasantly, and she calmed her outburst, rubbing at her knees. Reaching behind her, she pulled out a mass of black cord netting and lowered it into the pool.

"This isn't fed by a plant, is it?" Knives asked, watching her hands.

"The fish aren't Earth species, so no, probably not," she responded simply.

"Fish? No kidding?" Vash leaned on his hands at the water's edge, drips from his hair causing ringlets on the pond surface.

Vanessa tugged upward on the netting and pulled it back, unfolding it carefully on the rock edge while the brothers craned over to see. There were a few small fish in the net, pale and semi-opaque, flopping about.

Poking one with his finger, Vash marveled at the strange looking things.

Grabbing one of the larger ones, Vanessa carried it over to the table nearby. A moment later, she approached them, holding out a large knife sideways. She offered it to them, taking one of the slivers of slimy flesh from the blade herself.

Vash winced when she popped the raw fish into her mouth.

"On Earth they called this sashimi, or sushi," she offered as she chewed.

Knives reached out and bravely ate one. "Hmm."

Finally, Vash followed suit, but he swallowed the chunk quickly, gazing out at the cave walls around him, soaking in the details of this strange place. "It's very serene down here."

She nodded once, staring down into the water. "It's strange...to be here but not to be alone." Looking up, she saw the twins sitting at her pond in her cave, dripping wet from her water, and she was serving them her fish. It made her nauseous, but excited all the same.

Vash grinned wide. "Well, you're not alone anymore."

Feeling herself smile, she lowered her head and hugged her knees.

They sat at the pond edge, in a pleasant silence, until Knives walked the length of the cave and back, to retrieve one of their bags. Standing a few feet from the water edge, he began to unbutton his pants, prompting his brother to wave his hands for him to stop.

"I want to wash away the sand and change," Knives explained, exasperated.

Vanessa buried her head against her knees as Vash gestured around the cavern. "It's not very conducive to privacy, but we'll have to work out a system."

Coming to her feet but keeping her eyes averted, Vanessa pointed to the side of the pond where the cave floor dropped to a wedge. "Try to keep the waste water away. I'll just...um...go over here." She shuffled off around the stalagmites dividing the pond's chamber from that with the platform.

Wasting no time, Knives stripped off the remainder of his clothing and began dousing himself so that the water ran off where she asked. He shivered despite himself, and shook his hair with his fingertips to loose the granules.

Keeping more in shadow, Vash undressed and knelt to wash away the grime as well. His fingers wiped at the scar edges on his body, where the sand was catching. He glanced over to be sure she couldn't see him, eliciting a snicker from his twin.

A few towels flew through the air and Vash caught them midair. "Thanks," he called to her, as he quickly dried off and dressed just as fast.

When the brothers were clothed, they stepped over to Vanessa, who was on the platform laying out mats and blankets. She had the same idea they had, to sleep, and soon.

"Go on, we'll keep our eyes to ourselves," Vash offered, taking the blanket from her hands to finish up himself. He watched her scratch at her head and saw a little sand fall out. "Go on."

She hesitated, but was too uncomfortable not to, and she went deeper toward the pond.

Vash stared daggers at Knives who had turned sideways with his pack to get himself something to eat. "Sit still," Vash whispered.

"I can't see her from here," Knives muttered, pouring a handful of traveler's mix into his mouth. He chewed and leaned back, looking to his side, and whispered, "I can from here."

Kneeling forward, Vash pulled his brother's shoulders forward where he couldn't see. In doing so he caught a glimpse of Vanessa leaning back against the cave wall while pouring water into her hair, her thin dress wet. Tugging them both out of view, he took a deep breath. "You can't act like this," he hissed.

Knives grinned and ate more mix, turning his back to the pond area to ease his brother's mind. A silent moment passed before she returned in a simple, dark gown, shivering from the cold and her wet hair, braided into a rope upon her shoulder. She stared down at the bedding on the platform, which was only about ten by ten feet across, and chose a spot on the far edge. Folding herself into the layers with her back against the wall, she closed her eyes and listened carefully through her loud heartbeats for them to settle in as well. Vash chose the spot near the middle, between her and Knives, who was at the other edge. In no time at all, they were all fast asleep.


	16. Sharing

Waking refreshed, if a little sore, Knives sat up on the platform surveying their surroundings again. The storm must have let up, for the reflected light lit the cave far brighter than before. By the rope ladder and entryway, He saw the pile of things they'd left, and wordlessly he stood and began the work of putting things more where they should belong.

Knives carried the rice sacks back to the kitchen area, where he saw Vanessa bent over a basin of water and dirty clothes. Coming back with a load of their provisions and empty canteens, he arranged the foodstuffs on the indents and hollows of the rock face nearby, where he saw she kept other such things. Glancing from the corner of his eye, he watched her shoulders work muscles beneath skin, stirring the sudsy water with her arms which were revealed by a brown sundress with no sleeves.

Vanessa heard him behind her, but she didn't know he was watching her. When she stood she saw him staring at her, and her hand went to her chest. She avoided eye contact. "You startled me," she murmured.

"I hadn't intended that." Knives stepped past her to kneel down and splash his face with water. "This cave of yours, though modest, spartan...I am glad you brought us here."

Reaching sideways into a crevice, Vanessa began pulling out dishes of various sizes. Setting them on a rock shelf, she heard him walk up behind her and she froze.

"You've a lot of things hidden away," he observed, peering into next crevice. "Is that wine? May I?"

She nodded, and continued pulling out plates.

He rolled a bottle in his palm, glancing up for a moment to see Vash walk in to ladle himself a cool drink.

"Do you want it? I don't." Vanessa watched him analyze the labels. "You can have them."

He smiled slightly at her, nodding thanks instead of saying it.

Vash watched them over the edge of the ladle. He didn't ask why someone would have wine bottles if they didn't want to drink them.

"You know, this is a very good vintage. Vash, you should try this," Knives suggested, placing the last bottle back into the crevice where it was cold and dark.

"Unless there's some hard liquor hidden away in there, I think I'll stay dry," Vash responded with a soft smile, wiping his lips. After a pause, he asked, "You don't happen to have some whiskey, or..."

"Just the wine," Vanessa responded, bending down to fuss with the net after Vash walked away. She pretended not to notice Knives as he ran his hands along the rock of the cave, observing the various hiding places and formations both smooth and ragged, the mirrors hanging on nails just above his head, and she stepped on bare feet up the uneven cave floor. Halting in her tracks, she saw Vash leaning against a stalagmite beside the platform, leafing through a pile of papers. She sighed out slowly, and reached past him for her comb.

Vash looked up and began sputtering an apology. "I...I wasn't trying to be nosy. Do you mind?" Seeing her shake her head, he turned a page. Stepping closer to a reflected shaft of light, he held the papers out and the one on top was of a very regal, dark haired, older woman. He grinned and gazed down at the image. "I want to ask their names because you've drawn them as if I know them, too."

Vanessa didn't offer names. She stood and started at the ends of her hair, trying to brush out the tangles.

Knives' bare feet came round them and he sat beside another stack of papers. Lifting the first few, he saw anatomical drawings of the outsides of bodies of humans young and old of various sizes, and also drawings of their inner workings, all very nicely detailed and colored in chalks. Curious how his brother's words matched up with the subject matter on the pages, he stood for a second to peer over at the drawings Vash held. Frowning, he saw it was just a human, and he lost interest.

Vash held out to his brother a couple of other pages of portraits between his fingers, face alight with sentimentalism, asking, "Aren't there faces you wish you could see again?"

"Of course not," his twin snapped, a little too quickly.

Keeping his eyes on the pages, Vash muttered, "Not even Rem..."

"Ugh," Knives grunted, annoyed at the mention. "No. And did you consider that perhaps those are private drawings? You should be less intrusive," he added somewhat hypocritically.

"No, it's okay," she sighed out, peering at the faces in Vash's hands as she leaned against a stone pillar, tugging gently at her hair. She pointed past Vash to a low crevice."There are a lot of books in there, too. It can get boring down here without them. Make yourselves to home." Resting the side of her face against the cool, familiar stone, she added, "No use trying to keep secrets."

"We're family," Vash chimed in, upbeat.

Vanessa felt a sharp pain in her chest, and she began to breath a little too quick and shallow. She felt positively overwhelmed.

The brothers watched her move to the rope ladder with her head down, saw her ascend and shove the 'door' away. Sun forced its way into the cave entry, bits of sand falling like tiny globes of light.

"I didn't do anything," Knives began argumentatively. "Whatever upset her, you-"

"She just wants to be alone," Vash interrupted, stacking the pages and tucking them back where he'd found them.

"Regardless, it's unsafe for her to be alone." Knives began to stand.

Vash put his hand on his brother's arm. "I think she'll be fine. This is the Outer-Outer. There's nothing and nobody out here. Let her be. Everybody needs a little solitude once in a while."

Knives considered that for a moment, as he noticed that Vash had shoved his clothing into the rock shelving rather haphazardly. He pulled out a pile and sat cross-legged on the platform to fold them neatly, reminding himself that he was born a twin, naturally at ease with his brother no matter their differences. He'd always been uncomfortable when his brother wasn't with him. He spent decades alone after his brother abandoned him and he was forced to abandon him in return, but he didn't relish it. Upon briefly reuniting in July, Vash blew away much of Knives' body, leaving him barely alive, and still, through his righteous anger, he longed to be with his brother again. Alone wasn't his default state. Nevertheless, it was logical that one born alone might need a return to that lone state for comfort.

"Listen, you should know, she's aware of our past." Vash abruptly confessed, deciding suddenly that it was important for him to share this with his twin. She'd said there was no use keeping secrets, and to some extent he agreed with her. Just not entirely.

"What did you tell her, specifically?" Knives asked, voice rising.

"I didn't actually _say_ a whole lot," Vash continued, not exactly lying. He was pretty sure Knives didn't know about memory transfer via feathers, having never been on the receiving end of it nor having ever gotten his feather-tendrils close enough to a surviving human to share anything. "Suffice to say she's got the gist. So, she's going to need to get away from us sometimes to be able to stand being around us at all. Do you see what I mean?"

Studying his brother's expression, Knives was rather surprised he'd said 'us' instead of just 'you.' But then, Knives wasn't the one who leveled a city and nearly destroyed a moon. He was relieved not to be singled out as the evil one, at least where she was involved. "So long as she's safe and returns."

"I know." Vash watched Knives tuck his neat piles of clothing back on the shelf, and began, "I want to talk to you more about the humans."

Hours passed in debate, and the brothers lost themselves in self-assurance and frustration. Their words echoed around them, contained within the space. When finally, their hunger paining them, Knives stood and announced he had tired of Vash's foolishness, Vash relented to end their discussion. They should eat.

"I'm sure she's hungry, too," he muttered, walking to the ladder and ignoring his boots as he climbed into the arid heat. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the harsh sunlight, and once they did he walked out, sand nearly burning his bare feet. Vash searched about, past rock formations and uneven ground. "Vanessa?" he called out.

"Over here!" she replied.

He moved casually in her direction, mouth open to pant softly under the oppressive suns. It was strange to walk without shoes on hot sand. Hands in his pockets, he rounded the corner of a giant stone the shape of a gnawed-upon slice of toast, and was surprised to see a derelict jeep half-buried in the sand. Vanessa sat in the passenger seat, shaded by the weathered, cloth roof but easy to spot through the broken-out windows. She appeared to be penciling something carefully onto a page in her book.

"Can you show me how to prepare fish?" he asked, scratching at his head. "I don't want you to have to do it for us, I just really don't know how. And we're really hungry."

She nodded, scrutinizing his expression. Hopping out, she walked alongside him back to the entry. Her hair hung neatly, pretty, finally free of the sand and the tangles.

"Is there anything useful in the crates in that jeep?" he asked, referring to some he'd seen in the back of the vehicle.

"Not anymore," she responded, expecting him to ask how the thing had gotten there, relieved that he didn't ask. Vanessa let Vash descend the ladder first, and she followed, going straight back to the pond with him to explain about catching, cleaning, carving and cooking fish.

He listened intently, so that she wouldn't have to explain anything twice, and memorized the swift, scientific cuts she showed him. But when he reached to take the knife from her, she pulled away. "I'll do it this time," she offered. "Go on and talk to your brother until it's ready," she murmured very quietly.

Vash drew his mouth tightly shut, as clearly she knew that's what they'd been doing, and what they needed to continue doing. He nodded and walked back to sit near his brother. Picking up where they'd left off, he announced confidently, "They're not violent by nature, that's a logical fallacy."

Knives scoffed, peering off in the direction of where Vanessa was making their dinner. "Did you learn nothing from the men I sent you?"

"The Gung-Ho Guns...Did _you_ learn anything from sending them?"

"What were their names? The Gung-Ho Guns," Vanessa interrupted from the next chamber.

"Why do you ask?" Knives responded, wondering why anyone would care.

After a pause, she called out, "I would imagine they were very interesting, tragic figures."

Knives looked to his brother, who seemed lost in the past at the mention.

Vash was reluctant to speak at first, but he somehow thought it perfectly appropriate to give his account of their names, their talents, who they were to his knowledge and how they lived and died. He thought, what if Knives didn't know all of this, and shouldn't he? Recounting them chronologically in a soft voice, he spoke for some time. Monev the Gale, Dominique the Cyclops, and so on, summarizing what happened with each of them, leaving out the part about why they were after him in the big picture.

He barely noticed Knives growing increasingly distraught, as he spoke.

Vash was just about to get to Wolfwood and the Eye of Michael, his voice cracking, when Vanessa interrupted. "Vash, please don't continue if it pains you so much to talk of them..."

Knives began hyperventilating.

Rubbing his eyes, Vash absentmindedly asked his brother, "What's wrong?"

Knives gasped for air, tears in his eyes. "It's so horrible...what I put you through..."

Throat tightening, Vash wanted to tell his brother to shut up, to just stop, but he couldn't.

"I feel...disgusted...I feel awful..."

Vash's eyes welled up as well. "It's in the past."

"I still feel awful..."

"I forgive you, Knives, okay? Don't worry about it."

Gulping in air, Knives' chest calmed and he seemed to get a hold of himself.

Patting Knives on the shoulder, Vash stood and stepped nonchalantly down into the lower part of the cave. He ducked out of sight of his brother, who had dropped his face into his hand anyway.

Vanessa's book was in her holster and she was carving at fish, but he didn't need to catch her with the book open to know what'd happened.

Leaning in close, just an inch or so from her pointed ear, Vash whispered very, very quietly, "Do that again, kiss your book goodbye." He didn't hide his irritation, and though he didn't mean to frighten her, if that's what it took...

She didn't acknowledge him, continuing her work.

Vash's false fingers rested on the hand she held the knife with, and he added, "I'm serious."

She let out a breath slowly and nodded, waiting for him to walk away before setting the knife down, dunking her hands in a cup of water, and wiping away the fish smell on a kitchen rag. Vanessa followed Vash to the main chamber of the cave, but stopped at the platform. To his surprise, she knelt on the edge of the platform and drew Knives into a friendly embrace, his cheek against her collarbone, his hands still tucked between his knees.

"I heard what you said," she murmured, "And what you did was terrible...But it takes courage to apologize."

Unsure what to do, Knives held his breath.

After a moment she let go and walked back to the pond area to finish with the meal.

Vash huffed. He watched his brother press his hand to his mouth, eyes moving about as he thought about something intently. What should have been a moment of great relief and warmth for Vash was instead steeped in dread.


	17. Giving Up

"Even vermin have a place in this world!" Vash spat, louder than he'd meant to, pounding his fist against the platform.

Knives tipped his head back and filled the cave with laughter.

Vash argued through the sound, yelling, "The most disgusting creatures have a place in the big picture! Things that eat decay like rodents and insects and bacteria even! Everything has a purpose! Your analogy is _stupid_!"

"'Stupid?' Vash, you amuse me. How is it part of a natural order for a lesser species to enslave a superior one?" He saw Vanessa turn the page of a book in his peripheral. "They beat down that which they should worship instead."

"We're not gods. We're only barely not human, we-"

Knives raised his brows at his brother. "That is entirely untrue! Vanessa, have you been treated as though you were human?"

Vanessa peered over her book, which she only pretended to read as she lounged on a pillow across the cavern from them. Days ago, when they'd first come to the cave, she might have replied immediately, without thinking, but she'd quickly learned that Knives could easily turn anything she said into an argument against Vash's. Thinking for a time, she finally replied, "I'm the one who looks least human, so that's a silly question. But most of the time, no, they didn't treat me as anything but one of them."

"And the rest of the time, they turned on you with words and injuries that scar you to this day, just like my poor brother!"

"That's not what I meant-"

"Yet it's true. I believe you are not so foolish as my brother, Vanessa. I give you more credit. I would have known of your existence long ago, if you had been fighting the painfully naïve battle he has, all these years." Knives stood, and stepped closer to her.

"Knives, she hardly had to live like I did to believe that humans don't need to be exterminated from the galaxy..."

"Perhaps since she had not the means to do so, the thought hadn't occurred to her, but Vanessa – tell me honestly, haven't you hated them and seethed against their filthy existence?"

Vash saw her face redden, and stood to get his twin's attention back. "It's always upsetting to be hurt. You're missing the point, Knives; you isolated yourself from all but the absolute worst-"

"Vash, let her speak!"

Vanessa dropped the book upon the pillow and stood up straight. "As if our existence has some great purpose?"

Hearing her voice rise, Knives grinned, his eyes narrowed. "You simply didn't know what it was. Your refusal to say so proves it; you hate them. You hate the humans."

"Yes I do, but I don't want to kill them for it!" she cried out. "Wipe that smile off your face, you-"

"You're angry with me because you don't want to admit it; that's understandable, but don't bother to hide it for my brother's sake. He secretly hates them, too."

Vash huffed. "I don't-"

"I don't like them, but I don't kill everybody I don't like," Vanessa interrupted, furious with the man standing in front of her. Having risen to her feet, she pointed north. "They're ignorant fools but they're not evil! You on the other hand-"

"I'm the one in this cave who's right and it burns you inside, doesn't it! Why do you side with my brother, when you could accept your hatred and be the better for it?"

Gritting her teeth, she put her fists at her sides and glared at him, wishing she could use her abilities without looking at the pages, whether Vash wanted her to or not.

"Would you feel better if you hurt me? Vash, let her borrow that gun of yours."

Vash sighed. "Knives-"

"She wants to cause me pain, brother. You know what that's like. Give her the chance, let's see if that makes it better. I owe her, after all. Here, punch me as hard as you can," he offered, pointing at his cheek.

"Knives, cut it out. If you want to apologize just say so."

"I can't. Words would not suffice," Knives replied simply.

Vanessa saw in the corner of her eye Vash' expression soften.

Her wrist pressed against her book and again she thought of killing Knives. She envisioned taking Vash's Colt and emptying a round in Knives' temple. This thought, however, was slapped down by the force of Vash's philosophy, the determination and righteousness that she could not erase from her mind. He was waiting for her to make her choice, and she wanted to make the right one. Sure, she wanted revenge – more for what he'd done to Vash and to countless humans than for herself – but that wasn't the right thing to do.

Knives' steel blue eyes pierced her, but there was a hint of sadness. She thought, he wouldn't do it again. He really, truly wouldn't do it again. His eyes where too full with guilt – guilt she hadn't even had to force upon him. Of all the men who'd forced themselves on her in the past, she could recall none apologizing. And Knives hadn't even followed through; he'd stopped of his own volition. With great resolve, she drew in slow, calming breaths and kept her eyes locked on his, forcing herself to think of the long-run.

Knives waited for her to mete out her justice.

"I accept...your apology," she said instead.

He looked disappointed, but he relaxed some. Dropping back onto his rear on the platform, he reached into the cave wall for a book and buried his face behind open pages.

The trio spent much of the rest of the day quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Vash broke the silence to offer to assist Vanessa with the usual dinner of sushi, rice, and blackened fish fillets, and they padded carefully down the cave incline.

Vash beckoned her to stand near him in the back corner of the chamber, and said very, very quietly, "I'm sorry to ask you, but could you please go off alone when I have these...um...these discussions with my brother?" he asked her, truly apologetic. "I don't want you to have to hear it."

"Of course; I'll do whatever I can to help you," she insisted. She didn't correct him with the real reason he was asking her to avoid them.

"I'll take him to the surface so you can stay where it's nice and cool; it's not fair otherwise," he continued, rubbing at his neck.

She shook her head. "Better to keep it down here," she whispered, leaning in. "It'd be dangerous to swing around blades in a cave."

Vash nodded, knowingly. "Sorry."

"Thought I told you, no more apologies from you," she replied with a smirk.

Vash smiled back warmly, relieved that she understood so easily.

OOO

True to her word, Vanessa was eager to do what she could to assist Vash in his endeavor to convert his brother. If that meant finding every excuse to leave them alone to speak, to argue, she was willing to do so for most of every day.

On such a day, Vanessa found herself alone on the surface, about to hang laundry as a soft breeze rolled through. It wasn't even first noon and already the echoes from the cave were loud enough for her to tell how poorly the conversation had turned.

She pretended she could hear nothing, when her eye caught the spiky blond indication that Vash was climbing out of the cave. Turning to the cords she had wound between rocks jutting out of the landscape, she tugged a cold blanket taut for the hot wind to draw out the moisture, listening for his footsteps to approach.

"It's nice out today!" he announced, faking a cheery expression as he closed his eyes to the bright sunlight.

Brushing hair behind a pointed ear, she nodded.

Vash moved out a ways into the desert, assumed a stance, and drew his gun, taking aim in an instant. He holstered his gun, and repeated the motion, over and over in rapid succession. It was his way of training himself, without wasting bullets. He might need all of those bullets.

After a long while doing that, Vash pulled a small, glass marble from his vest and tossed it up in the air, catching it gingerly on the barrel of his gun. He repeated this, drawing his gun away and back at the same time. Almost meditating from the exertion, he repeated his technique exercises and wished he had a better supply of ammo, so that he could hone his skills by firing the thing.

Sweating, panting, Vash walked back past the laundry lines. He didn't notice that Vanessa had hung only a couple of things on the line, that she'd been watching him practice, and he didn't know that she could see the weariness on his face. Two weeks of arguing in the cave had taken their toll. His eyes had the look of growing desperation, as though he'd almost decided to give up.

"Sit," Vanessa offered, gesturing at a nearby stone with a flat top. When he obliged to do so, she stepped to just in front of him and thought for a moment, remembering something that wasn't her own memory to recall.

He leaned forward, rubbing his eyes with his hand, and felt her hand on his shoulder, and the other on the back of his head. She invited him against her and he pressed his forehead against the hollow of the bottom of her ribcage, looping his arms around her waist. His eyes welled up with tears and he gripped her tightly. It was just how Rem used to hug him.

"It's hard," she whispered, petting at his hair. "But it'll be okay."

"I'm not so sure about that," he murmured against the fabric of her dress.

"Just imagine it's juicy steak, delicious pasta, and having fish three times a day isn't so bad," she continued.

He chuckled softly. "I'm not talking fish."

"I know. You'll think of something. You always do," she offered supportively, though she'd seen in his mind it was untrue.

"I think I've reached the limits of pacifism," he whispered to himself. Leaning back, he stared down at his hands on his knees. "I picked up a message from Luida in March." He paused, and thought to explain, but figured she knew from seeing his memories what he meant. "The ships are coming. Soon."

"In a year," she remembered, seating herself on the rock beside him.

"Probably only a few months," he replied, sighing. A fat drop of sweat rolled down his temple and caught in his eyebrow. "I'd been optimistic. Now, I think the best I can hope for is that we'll just destroy each other. I want you to go back to March. I've asked Brad, I sent him a message, to keep you safe on the ship till the emigration; you just have to go to-"

"You're serious," she interrupted.

Looking up, he nodded sadly. "Words aren't going to win this one. I just don't want him to kill you, too."

"He wouldn't. He loves me."

Vash fell silent. His brother had begun obsessing over her, and that's why he had asked her to go away when they had their 'discussions.' But he didn't give Knives credit enough to be capable of loving someone. "Maybe he wouldn't take your life, but he'd take everything else," he murmured, eyes downcast.

"I want to tell you about an idea I have, of how I want to help. The path of least resistance." She waited, pressing her sleeve onto her sweaty forehead for a moment, and offered, "He can have what he wants, from me, in exchange for the safety of everyone else."

Vash paused in surprise, then scoffed at the idea. "That's not an option. He's my responsibility. I can't let you sacrifice yourself."

"It wouldn't be such a horrible thing. He seems the type to be gentle if I don't fight him. You look horrified! It's just sex."

Vash gazed into her eyes, brows furrowed. His face, pinked from the heat, reddened considerably more. "I don't think sex would keep his mind from hating humans."

"It wouldn't, but I could trade him pleasure for a truce. Millions of lives – that's motivation enough, for me, to give him great happiness. It's the most exceedingly humane scenario."

"Not for you," he argued, drawing his knee onto the rock to face her better. "Go to the ship and forget about us."

"I'd say the same thing to you. Go with them. Between my body and my book I can gift freedom to you and the humans," she insisted, leaning back on her elbow. "I decided already; I won't get on the ships, with all of those humans. They scare me more than he ever could."

Vash peered at her, face tingling with his blush. "You'd get yourself hurt, badly, and it'd probably be for nothing. That is, if you can even manage to seduce him or whatever."

"It's going to work better than you give me credit for." Vanessa pulled her leg under her and leaned in close to him. "I know what it's like to be alone for so long, and to suddenly find oneself in the warmth of another person. I know how intoxicating it is." She ran her hand from his knee up his thigh, causing him to draw in a sharp breath. "Logic forgotten, ethics forgotten, all that's left is what the body wants." Opening her mouth against his, she kissed him softly, then slow and deep, until he felt her tongue hot against his.

His ears rang as the blood seemed to rush from his head, his heart thudding hard against his ribs. When her lips parted from his, he found himself breathing very hard, and he heard her breathing in much the same way. Trickling sweat ran between his shoulder blades, under his shirt. Cracking open his eyes, he gazed into the oceanic color of hers and he felt her fingertips dig gently into the flesh of his leg.

She absentmindedly licked at her upper lip before she whispered, "Plant or human, we can't deny affection, and lust, and how badly we want them."

Opening his mouth to speak, he stopped when her hand moved further up his leg, and instead he leaned in to kiss her again. She'd lifted her free hand up to his face and he felt her fingertip on his lower lip. Added to the sweltering heat of the wasteland, he could barely breathe. Twice, three times, he kissed her deeper, exhausting himself as he felt her press her lips against his and her tongue against his, so gentle and so eager.

He drew back, swallowing to catch his breath. Clearing his throat, he fought to stay focused. "There's a difference between affection and being used."

Vanessa sat back with her hands in her lap, eyes tightly closed. "He can use me however he wants, given the tragic alternative."

"Do you hear yourself?" he asked, his voice rising. "Do you believe what you're saying?"

She nodded once. "I do. You'll see."

"I won't let you do this to yourself."

"It's not your decision." Her eyes darted to his mouth and she hesitated before standing up, staring off into the desert while she tucked her hair behind her ear. "Don't interfere, and I'll give everyone happily ever after."

Shaking his head, he rubbed at his eyes and watched her feet step away from the rock and toward the laundry. She looked so calm as she hung another sheet on the line. He saw a lot of himself in the resigned expression on her face, the posture she stood with – you could see in it someone who held little value for themselves.

Waiting until his pulse calmed and he felt more in control of himself, he walked over to the line and began to hang a towel out to dry. "Vanessa, I appreciate that you want to help-"

"I appreciate that you don't _understand_, Vash; you've got it wrong. Screwing an attractive man of my very own species, to save all of another..."

"Don't say that," he murmured.

She moved to the next parallel-hanging cord and continued putting up the wash, keeping her eyes on her work.

Vash helped until the old wicker basket was empty, and he slung it by a handle over his shoulder. He disappeared down the cave entry, leaving her alone with the fluttering of cloth and the stale desert air.


	18. Urgency

Knives turned to chapter 7 of a book he'd read days ago, because after finishing all of her books he'd thought perhaps rereading them all would entertain him a bit. Unfortunately, it didn't nearly so much as he'd hoped. Trying to get into the scene, he pretended not to notice the muffled sounds of his brother's crying in the innermost part of the cave.

Upon finishing chapter 10, Knives noticed Vanessa climbing down into the cave, but kept his eyes on the open pages. When she began to walk upon bare feet to the lower cave, he offered, "Better stay. He's having a moment."

Walking to the platform, she sighed out loudly. "That's fine, I wanted to talk to you about something anyway."

As she seated herself in front of him, he closed the book and set it on the platform beside them. His heart beat a little faster, as it tended to when she was near.

She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. She rubbed at her arm absentmindedly. "Could..." She tucked hair behind her ears. "Could you remove my stitches?"

Knives pulled his legs under himself. "Of course."

The hair that draped across her forehead and between her eyes was smoothed back by her hands, and she stared down at his knees as he touched the thumb and forefinger of his right hand near her now-healed forehead. Her back stung for a moment, and she felt the stitches pop open. She assumed he used a blade of his own to cut them, which made sense.

He pinched the ends of the wires between his fingertips and carefully pulled out each from her skin, setting them on the platform to be thrown away. Vaguely noticing that the sounds from the back area had stopped, he touched the faint scar the humans had given her, assuring her, "It healed well."

"It's about time for Vash's stitches to come out, too," she replied, rubbing her forehead, stomach fluttering.

"He removed his days ago," Knives explained, eyes trailing Vash, who'd dried his face and seated himself across them in the cave with a sewing kit and a torn shirt.

She told herself not to stall further. "So, I wanted to talk to you about something important. I've been thinking, I'd like to...I'd like to be with you. And I think you might want that, too."

Vash coughed.

Knives' eyes locked with hers.

Vanessa swallowed. "After the humans leave on those ships, I want us to stay here and be together."

Eyes fixed on the shirt he was mending, or pretending to, Vash felt adrenaline flood his veins.

"After they leave..." Knives repeated.

"And Vash," she added, smiling. "He belongs with them. Humans belong on Earth, Vash belongs with humans. You and I, we belong together. Don't you agree?"

"I most certainly agree that we belong together. Vanessa." He began to smile, in a way he didn't seem to have complete control over, and he pulled her against him and held her there.

She reciprocated in holding him back, and she asked herself, how is this so bad?

Knives pressed his cheek against hers, feeling a great relief and at the same time a great anxiety wash over him. "I've waited for you to say that," he said in a sigh. "I'm deeply, deeply pleased."

"I'm glad," she replied, staring at the cave wall over his shoulder.

Vash squeezed the threaded needle between his fingers, having a little daydream about driving it slowly into his brother's chest. He didn't like this, but she didn't want him to stop it. That's what she'd said. Besides, Vash couldn't make out exactly what his brother was whispering into her ear; he was turned away and couldn't see how far this was going. He kept his eyes on the shirt, allowing her the freedom to try things her way.

"I want you _now_," Knives breathed hot on her ear, as his hands journeyed, one up around the back of her neck, the other to her lower back.

"No. We're not alone," she whispered quickly.

"So?" Knives murmured back, voice low. "I've waited to have you; I don't care what audience there is."

"Please, wait until the humans leave. Not yet."

He grasped her and pressed her against him, so that she could feel his impatience.

"_No_!"

Vash jumped to his feet at the sound, and he shoved his brother away and tugged Vanessa back in a swift motion.

Vanessa saw the wrath on Vash's face and quickly composed herself. "Vash, don't fight! Listen! Listen. Knives. Not yet. Okay? Please. Not yet."

Knives' cheeks were crimson and he was huffing through gritted teeth. He looked from her eyes to his brother's, and after a moment he stood and stormed off to the ladder.

Once his twin was out of sight, Vash crouched by Vanessa. "So much for that plan of yours."

She sat there, on the edge of the platform, face red. "I'd say my plan's working."

"Are you kidding? You have no control over him."

"You're missing the point. He doesn't have control over himself," she explained.

"And _that's_ the _problem_!" Vash drew in a breath slowly to calm himself. "You know, you're taking this awfully well. Are you-"

"I overreacted; I'm fine," she answered quickly.

"This time, yeah. But next time?"

"Next time will be better. I'll be more yielding, or he'll be more patient."

"Vanessa, what are you _talking_ about?" Vash slapped his hand to his forehead, incredulous. "Didn't you see, in my memories, the things he's done? You mean to seduce _that_?"

"Knives is changing. You told me that yourself! You've asked him to empathize; you need to empathize with him, too. It's been 150 years since anyone loved him besides you, and it's not like you two have a good relationship. He has nobody. Barely has a brother. He'd never let a human near him, so he's a virgin, right?"

"_Oh_ _my_ _God_, I can't _believe_ I'm having this conversation!"

"Well, I'm guessing he is. Give him a little time to learn restraint. You saw his face; he was staring daggers at you, but he just walked away. Don't you think, if he only wanted sex, he would've taken that from me days ago? He wants my consent. _That_ is the key."

"I know my brother; he doesn't deny himself anything. He's going to...I'm not leaving you alone with him."

"Then one day you'll wake up and we'll both be gone. In the meantime, please do not interfere."

Vash slapped his forehead. "You call that interfering!? I was trying to-"

"I know. But everything's under control."

Taking a deep breath, Vash stooped down and adopted a gentler tone. "Don't take this any further."

She stared very seriously into his eyes. "You've devoted everything to this philosophy, 'love and peace.' End the suffering, save everyone. I can give you that, prevent genocide, all without a single drop of blood spilt. And you say, 'no?' No...because it doesn't involve bullets and grandiose speeches and henchmen and duels and that crap, because it's not something you can do, or that you understand...it's wrong? Don't judge. And don't _dare_ throw it all away because you don't like the way this _feels_."

"I've killed..._hundreds_ of _thousands_! _I_ deserve to suffer!"

Waving her hand dismissively, Vanessa argued, "You killed them on accident. I killed people on purpose! If I could make feathers and show you, I would, because that'd make it easier for you to understand. I gave them diseases and rot! I took away bits of them and left them that way!"

Vash's heart sunk.

"I used it to help people, too, but when I needed something, the book helped me take it, even at the cost of their lives. He was right, I pretty much hate humans. We deserve each other."

"You kill people? With diseases?" He was trying to wrap his mind around that.

"I don't anymore."

"So back in Bering...?"

"I cured stony fever."

"That's amazing..."

"I have a page to cause it, too."

"Oh."

"And comas and heart attacks and cancers. The list goes on. Maybe if I had feathers or blades to protect me I wouldn't have penned the non-curative ones." She paused, rubbing her temples with her hands, her voice very tired. "You lived and bled to save everyone; I spent years inventing ways to maim."

Vash frowned. "I don't understand; why would you _ever_ give someone cancer?"

"It seemed the only fitting punishment," she replied easily, quietly. Clearing her throat, she stood and walked back toward the pond to busy herself with the net.

Digesting this, Vash sat on the platform. He felt the gun in his hip holster, with his real arm, the one with an angel arm gate between the ulna and radius of the forearm, ignoring as Knives finally came back down the ladder. When Knives crouched and lay on his back on his mat, staring at the cave ceiling, Vash stood and walked back into the area next to the pond, avoiding them both. He prepped the little stove, started a small pot of rice to boil, and nearly spilled the rice sack out onto the floor in surprise when Knives' voice in his head startled him.

"I'd rather you weren't angry with me."

"I get angry when you hurt someone," Vash replied silently.

Knives paused. "I didn't-"

"Again, by hurt I mean psychologically. If I weren't around, would you know when to stop?"

"I admit my weakness. Your outburst helped me to better hear her wishes. So, I forgive your jealousy."

"I have _never_ been jealous of you." Vash turned to glare at his brother up and across the distance of the cavern, taking a deep, angry breath in, and out. "Never."

Knives looked over and frowned. "Would you lie and claim you weren't sobbing in the back of the cave because she'd told you her decision earlier today? I sympathize, dear brother, I do.

"At any rate, now that she's revealed this attraction to me, tell me how I might intimidate her less."

"I'm not a magician. Try not to be a jerk...? Don't initiate _anything_. Let her make every first move. And, most importantly, no _always_ means no."

"Hmm. Is it strange, that she doesn't seem stricken with the same, blinding, intense need I feel? Not even a fraction?"

Staring at the label on the rice sack, Vash responded, "You really haven't been around women before, have you."

"I have been approached by vermin women with lust in their eyes; at least, in that moment prior to my letting them know they disgusted me, they looked this way. They were whores for a man they thought attractive."

"That's not the way things normally work. The ones you met – well, most people would call that lucky. Not you, of course. The way this works, is that men want it constantly and women want it when the moons are aligned just so."

"...Demanding a great deal of patience. So, I must wait until she warms to my touch? She may not express it yet, but I believe she has a fire burning in her, as well. A shame I have to wait to feed that fire."

Vash stepped over to his brother slowly. He crouched beside where Knives lay and he locked eyes with his twin. With a very serious expression, he whispered, "You'll wait till she's ready, or I'll remind you."

"As I said, your jealousy is understandable. I empathize, certainly." Knives propped himself on his elbow and set his hand gently on his brother's shoulder, whispering back, "I promise nothing, of course, but if on occasion she is willing and I allow, you may have her, as well."

Vash tore his brother's hand away from his shoulder, and squeezed the wrist painfully. Speaking through gritted teeth, Vash snarled out slowly, "Not. Another. Word."

Knives snatched his hand back, and watched his brother storm deeper into the cave.


	19. The Most Intimate Touch

Vash filled a bucket with cool water and walked up into the main chamber with it. He didn't acknowledge his brother or Vanessa, nor did they acknowledge him.

She was leaning back against him while they read books. Knives held his up in one hand while the other arm snaked over her shoulder, between her breasts, his hand resting against her waist. Slouching into him, she propped herself on her elbow, on his leg, and the other hand held her book open.

Biting his lip, Vash pulled on his boots and climbed up the ladder.

He stepped into the afternoon heat and took the water to the toma, tied on a long leash nearby. Patting its side as it drank, his mind was on fire. His emotions were a mess, a chaotic storm of anger and hate and confusion. It wasn't the way someone usually reacted to seeing two people lounging together peacefully, but it had become Vash's natural state to feel this way.

At least he was still sleeping between them.

Vash tasted iron. Wiping at his mouth, he saw crimson across his fingertips. He absentmindedly realized he'd bitten into his lip.

Staring off at the indentation in the sand, where the 'door' rested, Vash wondered if he had left them alone too long. How long was too long?

He left the bucket with the toma and trudged back to the cave. Descending, he heard them talking. They were still seated like that, but she had tipped her head back against his chest and she'd rested her hands against his forearm. Knives was smiling down at her as he replied, "Why do you ask?"

"I just wonder. Mine's busted, but yours works correctly, so I'm curious..."

"I am sorry that you cannot experience it."

"Yeah, so am I. I'd like to have something like that to protect me."

"It doesn't just protect, it harms," Vash interjected, tugging off his boots at the entryway. "Not having it, it's just one less thing to worry about losing control of."

"And one less way to defend oneself," Knives countered, peering down at Vanessa with great sympathy. "I can't imagine. And not only defense, and offense. Forming the arm releases anxiety...can give a feeling of euphoria."

Vanessa and Vash's eyes met for a moment, knowingly. She saw in his memories that forming the weapon had, as Knives described, felt wonderful, but the guilt and shame compounded, given the destruction, negated any positive effects for Vash.

"I can try to call it for you," Knives suggested, thinking.

"I thought that's what you did before," she asked, lifting herself away to face him.

"Yes, but, I have another idea." He stood, smiling. "Come above, we should try."

"I don't know...it hurt before."

"Vanessa, if I can show you your arm, show you the plant you were born as, I promise you will enjoy it. What I'd tried before was an attempt to resonate; if instead I put the burden on my gate...Come above. Trust me." With that, he climbed upward.

"You aren't actually going out there, are you?" Vash asked her wearily.

She stood and gestured at the entry. "Did you see him? He's so excited; so happy. I don't see this as a bad thing." She set her bare foot on the first rope rung and turned away from him.

Sighing, Vash rubbed his eyes, and he growled to himself. After a moment, Vash climbed up as well. He stood back, watching with a protective eye as Knives instructed her to kneel in the sand and breathe deep, even breaths. It calmed his fears some, that Knives was pointing her south, in a direction they knew held nothing at all to be harmed.

Her heartbeat pounded against his forearm, which he'd pressed across the front of her shoulders for stability. "Don't be afraid," he assured in a soothing voice as he brushed her hair to the side and decided the exact spot to press his left forearm against her spine. "If at any point you want me to draw it back, tell me."

"What if I can't talk?" Vanessa turned her head to the side to look him in the eyes.

"If I see pain in your face, I'll stop."

"Promise?" she asked, a bit apprehensive.

Knives smiled softly. "I promise. You should feel no pain; only ecstasy. Are you ready?"

She set her jaw, stared ahead, and nodded.

Vash felt the pressure in the air, felt his skin tickle, his gate grow hot, and he stepped back a few paces. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, in an instant, twin horn-like structures grew and spiraled from her back, over her shoulders, letting off a hum. A dozen glowing tendrils snaked out from the spiraled horns, whipping wildly out in front of her, growing longer, beating into the sand and throwing up clouds of sediment. He clamped his mechanical hand over his forearm, willing his gate to remain closed as his eyes fixed on Vanessa's arm. Blinking at the whistling whips, he glanced back at Vanessa. Her face was set in concentration. She did not seem hurt, but rather deeply interested, enthralled. Vash watched the arm whips tear into the wasteland, growing impatient for this to stop. These few seconds should be more than enough. Again, he glanced back to see her face, and his eyes darted around the shadow her glowing arm cast of his brother and her. The shadow was so dark. The darkest part of their shadow, in the sand, was growing, even as the light from the arm grew more intense against the contrasting purple of the late-day sky.

"Knives, stop!"

Vash's shouts were mostly drowned out in the hum, but Knives had heard him. Focusing with great concentration on his core, to control it for them both, Knives eyes darted from the formation to her face, and back, and he confirmed again that she was not in pain. He ignored his brother, who had a tendency to be overly dramatic about their abilities.

"Stop!" Vash repeated, stepping closer only to feel his gate react, so that he had to step back to keep his own weapon from arising and causing serious trouble. Gritting his teeth, he didn't think he could come any closer without losing control, so he pulled out his Colt and fired a round at Knives' head.

Feeling the bullet sail just past his ear, Knives' concentration broke and he drew his power out of her core. The hum stopped, leaving only silence and the sound of her panting. Knives glared at his brother, who rushed toward them, gun in hand. Vash fell to his knees and Knives noticed the pool of blood in the shadow.

She leaned sideways against Knives, and between breaths she said, "Wow."

Vash shoved his brother's arm aside and wiped red away from the exposed skin above the back of her dress with his bare hands. The fabric she wore was soaked all the way down. He could find no wounds, but his eyes went wide when he saw the amount of red sand she knelt upon.

Turning to him with a pale face, Vanessa's breaths were loud and labored. "Are you okay?" she asked Vash, following his gaze down to the sand. Head rolling to the side, she turned slightly and Knives, to keep her from folding into the sand, wrapped his arms round her. "Whose...blood...s'that..." she whispered between heavy breaths. Her eyes rolled up and her body relaxed completely.

"Vanessa...Vanessa..." Knives repeated her name, shaking her slightly as he gripped her round the chest.

"Knives, let her go, she can't breathe," Vash insisted, prying Knives away from her. He laid her on her back next to the blood puddle and checked her pulse.

Pressing his face against his hands, Knives murmured, "I didn't..."

"God, that's a lot of blood."

Knives' fingers slid from his cheeks, leaving the left side of his face blood-smeared. "I didn't realize..."

"I know." Vash began rhythmically pushing against her chest with his palm.

"What are you doing – don't hurt her!"

"I'm not. I'm just...shut up and keep still, okay?"

Knives became silent and watched. After ten pumps against her chest – he counted – Vash pressed his fingers under her jaw. He performed ten more pumps. And again pressed his fingers against her.

Vash loosed a loud puff of air and nodded his head. His fingers were pressed hard into her neck. "Okay. Okay."

"How did this happen," Knives wondered aloud in a hushed voice.

"She's missing most of her gate. She's not as strong as we are." He kept his fingers pressed against her neck, pulling her eyelid up with his fake hand.

"I didn't know..."

"Stop saying that, Knives." He locked eyes with his brother. "Go fill the canteens. Pack our bags. We're going to March."

"I don't...why...?" Knives sounded positively lost.

"I'm going to punch you if you ask another stupid fucking question," Vash threatened. "Go do what I told you to and hurry the fuck up, Knives." He watched his brother rush off and sat silently beside her, staring down at her ghastly pale face. The taste of iron kept him calm; he gnawed his lip open to help him focus.

What seemed an eternity later, Knives had their things packed, seemed more in control of himself, and didn't say a word as he helped his brother wrap her in a blanket, lift her onto the toma saddle, and lash her to it securely like luggage.

They pulled on their very heavy bags. Knives slid the makeshift door to the cave back into place, and followed his brother speed-walking north. It would be dark soon.

"That's to our advantage," Vash said in an authoritative tone. "We'll need to move as fast as we can without stopping and we'll cover more ground at night, this far south. We could be in March by this time tomorrow if we jog the whole way."

Knives nodded, joining his brother in quickening their pace, which the toma had no problem adapting to.

Several hours of jogging later, Knives broke the silence. "Is there a hospital in March?"

"We can't take her there," Vash corrected, wiping sweat from his brow. "They'd just give her a blood transfusion. I had one of those once – with human blood, and it didn't go too well."

"Then why are we running to-"

"I'm going to send a message to Luida. You don't know who she is, though, do you. The flying ship. I have friends there; they know what we are. They'll send someone to help."

Vash was relieved that his brother asked no more questions after that. He jogged alongside the toma, and every so often he slipped his hand into the blanket to check her neck for a pulse. Her flesh was cold. If he hadn't the very faint, slow yet rhythmic beat of her heart against his fingertips, he'd think she was dead. Given the way Knives was taking this, he decided not to tell him that she actually had been dead, for a little while there. Knowing that wouldn't help matters much.


	20. Reunion

Vash met his old friends at the bus stop. He faked a smile and ushered them along. "Let's get to the inn, quickly."

Brad, annoyed, asked, "What's going on? Your message was way too vague." It'd said only, 'Sensei, please come, emergency.'

"Sensei knows more about healing people like me than anybody I know," Vash explained.

"You've given me a lot of experience with that," Sensei agreed with a warm smile, trying to walk quickly, hampered by his age and his short legs.

Vash wanted to pick him up and run with him, but told himself that an extra minute or two wouldn't make the difference. "Well, this time it's not me needing your attention."

"Did you ask us here because your brother is hurt?" Brad growled out.

"Brad," Sensei admonished. "If he needs our help, we'll gladly give it, no matter."

"I don't think I can be in the room with that...that _monster_, Sensei..."

"Trust Vash, my boy. Everything is going to be fine." He smiled in his reassuring way.

Finally mounting the inn stairs, Vash didn't bother to explain further. He unlocked the door to room 2b on the second floor and held the door open for them.

Knives stood, angry, staring down the little, old man, and the burly, angry young one in turn. "What are they doing here, Vash..."

Brad was shocked to see a very healthy Knives. He didn't look nearly as dangerous as he'd expected – he pretty much looked just like Vash, actually – but Brad knew what this monster had done. He stepped in front of Sensei, expecting there'd be violence.

"I told you, we need help. She needs help. They're from the ship." Vash eyed his brother seriously. "Knives, you're in the way. Stand over there."

Sensei went straight to the bed, to his patient, and set an expanding medical bag on the table beside her. "She's lost a good deal of blood," he observed easily, snapping on his latex gloves. "Where is she injured?"

"Don't worry about that," Vash replied, trying to hide his impatience. "There's no wound. Just blood loss. And she's been comatose since the incident."

Brad stood at the foot of the bed, wanting to stay near Sensei, protective. "Why didn't you take her to the hospital, Vash? Why did you call us out-"

"Because she is a plant, my boy," Sensei interrupted.

"Wha..."

"That is why you asked me here, isn't it, Vash."

"Yes," Vash admitted, watching Sensei take readings from her.

"What amount did she lose..." Sensei dropped an instrument back into his bag and pulled out another.

"Over a third. I'm not sure."

"If she were human," Sensei began, "I'd say she'd lost around 50% of the blood in her body. Since what time has she been this way?"

"3 days ago. Her pulse has been essentially steady since it happened. Initially, her heart stopped, for over sixty seconds."

"Huh!?"

"Knives, keep it together."

Sensei turned around and faced Vash, gloved hands together. "The coma I can't explain, human or plant. I've treated your injuries before, Vash, and you were always a phenomenally quick heal. If you'd lost half the blood in your body three days ago as she has, you would be up and walking around right now. In fact, I believe that's what has happened to you at least once before."

Vash frowned. "The difference is, she's only got a fraction of her plant organ left, Sensei."

"Don't tell _them_ that!" Knives hissed.

"Knives. Seriously. Shut up. Sensei, what do you suggest?"

"A transfusion. But, if memory serves me, Vash, human blood is not compatible with-"

"Hurry," Knives interrupted. He pulled up his sleeve and pointed at the crook of his arm. "Take my blood, quickly! Give it to her!"

Sensei held up his hand. "Granted, I'm not in my element..."

Vash replied, glaring at Knives, "Of course. We understand."

"Well," Sensei continued, "If this is such as it is with our species, a transfusion could be done with a matched blood type. I don't know where to begin to decipher what blood type is right. Vash and Knives, your blood type is certainly compatible, given that you are twins. But hers is likely to be different. We can put Knives' blood into her, and it might help, but it might kill, as well."

Knives groaned impatiently. "Then, what-"

"Intravenous saline. Feeding tube, with a high electrolyte concentration, high in sugars. Patience. She's stable, and she has been for 3 days. If she were going to die she'd be dead already."

Vash nodded. "Thank you."

Brad snapped on sterile gloves and Sensei busied himself in inserting an IV into her arm, the tube of which lead to a saline bag that Brad hung helpfully from a nearby coat hook. Alongside this he hung another larger bag full of an opaque, orange fluid.

Knives crossed his arms tight against his chest, saying nothing, but he did not look away as Sensei pushed tubing down her nose into her stomach. He expected her to jerk awake at these intrusions, and when she did not, he held his hand over his mouth.

When she was set up properly, her readings were checked again, and the humans stepped away from the bedside, Knives slid a chair up to her side.

Vash followed Sensei and Brad into the hallway. Brad stepped down the staircase to get he and Sensei a room.

"Vash, there is nothing we can do that we haven't already done," Sensei assured, without Vash asking. "Would you visit with us for a while? I have greetings to deliver to you from the ship residents."

Pressing his palm against the door of room 2b, Vash searched for words to turn down the invitation.

"Is this the 'Vanessa' you mentioned in your message from a few weeks ago?"

"Yes."

"Your brother seems intent on watching over Vanessa. She won't be alone."

Nodding, Vash supposed he was right, not that it made him feel much better.

Sensei grasped Vash's hand and dropped his voice low. "Forgive me for asking, but I am afraid I must. Will he allow the emigration, Vash."

"If she recovers, he will. I think. If she doesn't, I'll take care of it."

"We're counting on you, Vash." Sensei smiled as Brad returned. They walked together, to the far end of the hall, stepping inside their room. "Now, let's get you those letters, and a few gifts as well."

OOO

Her throat hurt terribly. She swallowed, but gagged, and though her right hand tried to go to her mouth to help her stop choking, it was stuck somehow. Her left hand was free and went to her mouth. Nothing. It went to her nose, and felt a big, plastic spaghetti string there and grasped it and tugged it, tugged it, each tug gagging her as she pulled the endless thing out of her. One last tug and she tossed it lazily away. Her throat still hurt, but at least she wasn't gagging anymore.

Why did her left arm hurt? Was there something stuck in her arm? Could that be another plastic spaghetti noodle? She bent her wrist as far as she could, grabbed a hold of it, and gave it a hard tug. Something surely was stuck in her arm, because she could feel that it wasn't anymore. Sighing, she felt relieved. Nothing felt stuck inside of her anymore.

Oh, but that right hand. She still couldn't move it. Was it even there? She couldn't feel it. That wasn't good.

She took a deep breath, the air a little stale, not smelling of minerals like the cave did.

Her dry throat didn't want to swallow, and her eyes didn't want to open. Open, dammit, she told them, and after a time they obeyed, if only just a bit. The light was blinding. She squinted. Waiting, she saw brown and green. Brown and green. The walls were brown and the floor was green. Not the floor. She wiggled her toes and saw the green move. There was a green blanket over her. And sunlight flooded into this room, which was not her cave. Where was she?

Rolling her head to the side, she felt incredibly tired. Blinking against the light, she wanted to know what was going on with her hand. She couldn't feel it, that was for sure. But at least she could see it. It was in somebody's lap, fingers mixed together with somebody else's fingers. That somebody's other arm was resting on top of her forearm, obviously cutting off the circulation. Her tired eyes slowly climbed up, up, to identify this somebody. Trying to focus on his sleeping face, she started to remember red sand, a wonderfully satisfying sensation, and a humming sound.

"Knives..."

No sound came from her mouth. She tried to wiggle her right shoulder to make her numb right hand move. It wasn't working well, but when she nudged harder she managed to get his head to roll to the side.

She reached past her pinned arm when she saw a glass of water beside him, but it seemed to be glued to the table.

A hand cupped round hers and pulled the glass free, helping her bring it to her lips and swallow it very carefully, very slowly. It even held it away when she started to cough, so that she didn't spill water all over herself.

The glass went back to the table, and she felt the helpful hand smooth at her hair. "Vanessa?"

She closed her eyes, tired.

"Vanessa, can you hear me?"

Trying to clear her throat, she decided to try talking again, as perhaps it might work this time. It did. "Yeah." Her right arm tingled and she felt a pressure on it, the familiar feeling that the numbness would wear off soon. She cracked open her eyes again. "Where are we?" she asked in a weak voice.

"March," He breathed out in a sigh.

"I don't remember how we got here. Where's Vash?" She began coughing again and tried to lean forward. She felt Knives lift her into a sitting position.

"He'll be back soon. Vanessa, I was so worried..."

She wanted to argue with him, there was no way they were in March. That'd be a several-day trip from the cave. Did she pass out or something, and lose time?

"Do you feel...do you feel okay..." She heard a weakness in his voice that made him sound not very much like Knives at all.

"Mm-hmm. Did my gate thingy bleed again..."

Instead of simply saying, 'yes, yes it did,' Knives broke down and began to cry. She did him the favor of not looking.

When she came to again, there was the sound of footsteps, coming closer, talking, waking her up. This time around there was no plastic spaghetti intruding upon her person, which was a relief. She sat up on her own and rubbed her face.

Vash rushed at her, hugging her to his chest. He and Knives were smiling and Vash was laughing. Both brothers had tears in their eyes and if it weren't for the differing haircuts she could hardly tell them apart.

"You were dead for a whole minute!" Vash exclaimed.

Knives shoved him. "That's not funny..."

"No, but it's pretty crazy! Oh. Oh. There's some people you need to meet." As the last words escaped him he was rushing out the door, it still wide open.

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Knives sighed aloud. "You came back," he muttered.

Vash ran back in, still beaming. "Vanessa, this is Brad, and this is Sensei."

She surveyed them. Brad was tall and kind of burly, with very small, serious eyes, a serious mouth, and a very silly hairdo. Sensei was very short, elderly, with a warm smile that made his eyes practically disappear. "Nice to meet you, Miss," Sensei nodded. "Now, Vash has told me you're of the medical profession as well, so forgive my treating you like any other patient. You need to rest for at least a day or two more, and to eat and drink as much as you can." He was taking her pulse at her wrist and measuring what she guessed was blood pressure with some handheld lost technology.

"Did you do this?" she asked, gesturing at what she now recognized as a feeding tube and an IV.

"They're from the ship I told you about," Vash explained as Sensei nodded, still smiling. "Sensei created my arm."

"I'm an admirer, Sensei. Thank you for what you've done." She smiled weakly at him, and up at Brad, who was blushing and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm sorry you had to travel so far just for this."

"Nonsense. We're very relieved you've returned to good health, my dear," Sensei told her. "I hope you'll forgive us for running off after our introduction."

"Sensei, you have to leave?" Vash asked.

"We've a lot of preparations to make, for the ships." He turned and stepped bravely over to Knives, who'd stood off to the side trying to act stoic. "Are you joining us on the journey to Earth, Knives?"

"No, of course not," he snapped.

"Then, there is to be bloodshed?" Sensei asked, sadly.

"There's no need for that anymore," a weak voice chimed in. They turned to Vanessa, who was smiling warmly over at Knives.

Knives smirked despite himself. "Convince them to leave the plants here, with us. We look forward to having the planet to ourselves." He kept his eyes locked on Vanessa's, but he saw Sensei nod in his peripheral.

Brad shook Vash's hand, eyes wet. "This is goodbye?"

"He belongs with us and should stay," Knives interrupted, "but it is ultimately Vash's decision if he should choose to join you."

"I hope we see you on the ships," Brad whispered to Vash, face very serious.

"I do as well," Sensei chimed in, a smile upon his old, thin lips. He shook Vash's hand in both of his. "Brad, let's go." Sensei put his hat back upon his bald head, and walked to the door.

"Thank you." Knives spoke up, still not turning to them. "For bringing her back."

Once they'd left, Vash felt he needed to sleep for days. It didn't help that he'd just finished a double shift at the local diner, doing his best to earn enough tips to cover the room's fee, not to mention the cost of food. He needed a rest, but when Knives relented to finally leave her side to visit the bathroom, which was shared and down the hall, Vash moved to sit in the chair beside her. "You really had us worried. You were in a coma for 10 days."

His hands felt warm as he grasped her hand in his. "Wow. No more angel arm for me," she joked, coughing a little when she tried to chuckle. "That explains why I'm wearing your bedclothes."

He nodded. "You died. I wasn't exaggerating. Don't do that again. You're important."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Vash, sir." She smiled, breathing deeply through her nose and smelling the alcohol on his breath.

"So this is our room – we're taking turns sleeping in the other bed over there, and he's been watching over you for the last week, since I've been doing doubles at Maggie's across the street. That's a restaurant. To pay the rent and feed us all. I'm sorry, I left you alone with him, I-"

"He stayed with me that whole time?"

"Yes. He was completely beside himself. Completely. It was embarrassing."

She tried to laugh, again.

"Your color started coming back a couple of days ago. We'd hoped you'd wake soon, and here you did." He kissed her forehead, and rubbed the top of her hand. "Now, what's the most delicious thing in the world? I'll go get it for you. Lots of it."

"Um. Anything but fish and rice."

Vash laughed, a warm, pleasant laugh.

"Whatever we can afford. Pasta? No spaghetti." She blinked hard.

"Excellent choice, madam. What kind of sauce?"

"Mmm. Alfredo. With vegetables. Mushrooms. And chicken."

"Okay."

"And chocolate-chocolate chip muffins."

"Absolutely."

Her heavy lids slid shut and her lips moved less when she spoke. "I think I'm going to sleep first."

"Whatever you need to do," Vash agreed, tugging her covers back up to her chest.

"Vash...my book?"

He gestured at the foot of her bed. "Your things are here."

"Can you hand me the book? I don't like to be without it. Like you and your gun." She smiled weakly.

His hand subconsciously went to his Colt, in the holster he wore to work. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself it was a fair comparison. Sliding the worn book under the covers beside her, he nodded. "Better?"

"Much." She closed her lids. "I recall you saying it freaks you out to have someone watch _you_ sleep, so keep in mind you're a hypocrite if you're going to stay in that chair."

"Noted." It took only a moment for her to pass out. He shut his eyes against the afternoon sunlight beaming through the room's two windows. It was his turn to fall asleep in the chair, anyway.


	21. The Worst Intentions

Vash sat on a weathered bench outside the east entrance of the March hospital. He'd have been starting his second shift at that time of day, but she'd insisted on getting a job at the hospital so Vash could cut his hours. Certainly, Knives had argued against it. But when Vanessa pleaded her case and kissed him lightly on the lips, Knives went silent and allowed her to go to work.

"Don't let her come to harm, I warn you, brother," Knives had threatened his brother in mind. "You would be eternally sorry."

-He needn't ask. Vash accompanied her from the inn to the hospital every day, and he made sure to be waiting on that bench every afternoon just before her shift ended. She was never alone in the street.

Vash used his hour lunchbreaks to visit a target range at the edge of town, saved a little extra cash to buy bullets. Though nowhere near the perfection he'd reached as a ace gunman in his prime when he'd practiced more and consistently, he felt pretty sure of himself again.

Stretching against the bench, Vash's back ached. Not just from being on his feet all day; he'd volunteered to take the floor every night, claiming he liked that better anyway. Anything to stay between them. She was only alone in the room with Knives while Vash made hasty bathroom trips.

Vash was far, far more protective of her than Knives would have asked him to be.

His face lit up in a smile and he put up a hand in greeting once he spotted her walking into the sunlight. "Yo! How was today?"

"Good." Stepping to the bench, she hugged her leather medical pouch against her chest, the light catching on the texture of differing widths of braids wound about her head. "I'm doing good things."

"With the book?"

"Sometimes. Don't worry, I'm careful. There's privacy in a hospital, less religion. They won't notice."

Vash patted the bench beside him, waiting for her to sit and talk to him, as she usually did. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you become so skilled in the first place?"

"I dunno. Since I was really small, overhearing the scientists wanting to to open me up, I've been interested in the anatomy and the workings of people and things."

"Scientists _what_?"

"Huh. I keep forgetting you don't already know all of this. Hard to keep straight, that I know your memories, but you don't know mine. I could barely see and I didn't know how to talk. After they took me out of the bulb, most of the time I was alone with the books in the compound, and I read them all. They laughed at me, thought I was looking for pictures. They spoke openly of their plans to vivisect. They weren't like Rem. One night, I snuck away.

"About the time I started creating these designs, I had my hump removed. I looked human enough to get better work, and I tried my hand at many trades, but I've always come back to medicine. It's the great equalizer. Everybody's the same when they're in pain, when they're sick, when they're broken. Even if I looked strange on the outside, I had the same inner parts they did. I've never been uneasy around sickness and hospitals and blood, things opened up where you can see hearts beating in people's chests. In a strange way, I think that's home for me. That's what I was born into, so it's what I know.

"Long answer. Ask me something else, if you want."

Vash thought. There were many things he wondered. He looked at her over his orange-tinted sunglasses. "Who deserves cancer?"

He caught her off-guard, but she supposed it was inevitable that she'd have to explain that comment. "The correct answer is nobody." She paused, thinking. "I'll tell you about the last time I was going to do it. I never actually did, but I fully intended to.

"It was in the outskirts of Augusta, about fifty years ago." She leaned back against the bench, holding herself around the chest with one arm and lifting the other to shield her eyes with her hand. "I was doing weekends at the Augusta hospital, working weekdays as an embroidery assistant to a tailor. Things started to get uncomfortable right off. I was in the back room one day adjusting the pins in my hair, and the tailor burst in. He started to grab at me, but he saw my ear. People already thought I was strange. So the guy told me if I slept with him, he wouldn't tell them I was the daughter of the devil. I packed to leave, but I hadn't had the chance; by nightfall a mob was already at my door, demanding to see my hellspawn ears. I wouldn't do it, so they forced me to. The shouting started, and some people hit me. I fell, and I made up a story, and they laughed. One guy had a pair of pliers and he tore out one of my fingernails. He started to tug out another and he said he'd stop if I just admitted what I was, then it'd all be over. If I didn't they'd keep 'trying me' – that's what they called it – till I confessed. Two fingernails later, I was screaming that I'd send the devil himself after them if they didn't let me go. Strangely, that didn't faze them.

"They dragged me off to a barn. The tailor was there – he was telling a story about how I put spells on him. So did another man I didn't recognize. A lot of people trickled out, but seven men stayed. They tied my hands to the wall and started to hurl insults and spit at me. They encouraged the tailor to 'take revenge,' so he took out a pair of shears and he squeezed my breast and he stabbed me, here; punctured my lung," she muttered, waving her finger at the lower half of her left breast. "They paced around, and would just fly at me all the sudden and hit me or slap me. It was like they were waiting for a cue. So, when the red-headed guy started to pull my clothes off of me, well..." she trailed off for a moment, dropping her gaze to her lap. "Four of them raped me. The last one took out this dull, serrated knife and cut me with it while he had his turn. I guess it made some of them uncomfortable, how bloody it was getting, because most of them left about then. When the guy was done, he called me a slut. He went over to his buddies, wiping his hands on a rag, and they started talking about where to dump my body. They said a gunshot to the head was too good for me, weren't sure how to do me in yet. By then, the board of the wall I was tied to had worked loose, and I wiggled a hand free. I yanked off the board, and I barely remember slamming one of them across the head with it. He fell against another of them. I ran to a toma shed and rode off into the desert.

"They didn't follow me for very long. For days, I just kept riding till the toma tired out, and I walked, and walked. South. I knew where that cave was, and I kept some things there. So, I walked there, to recover for a while.

"Haven't been near Augusta since then, but if I had, I might have given some men cancer," she muttered.

Vash sat silent.

"We need to get dinner. It's nearly second sunset."

"That's...It's so…" Vash whispered, his words sticking to his tongue.

She pivoted on the bench to face him. "Well, you _asked-_"

His face was wet. "Could you give me a minute?" he asked softly, staring off, blinking hard behind the orange glass lenses.

Vanessa nodded, waiting till he stood, following him as he ordered noodles 'to go' at a place nearby. Wordlessly, Vash carried the food containers in a bundle and walked beside her toward the inn. He stood back as she went to the front desk to pay for another week in the double, and asked for a key to a single for a week as well. Vash felt a little better knowing she'd gotten her own room.

"So, what's for dinner," she murmured, starting up the steps.

Vash set the bundle on a stair and touched her arm. When she turned, he put his arms out to embrace her, waiting a second to see if she was alright with it. It appeared she was, and he held her there where no one could see. "You're not alone anymore," he whispered, squeezing her slightly, feeling her nod once, against his shoulder. It was no wonder, he thought, her being so adamant that sex was only sex, that it was unimportant. If she believed it otherwise it'd be challenging to stay as strong as she was, given what she'd been through.

Snapping him from his thoughts, a gunshot rang out in the street. Vash's hands on her shoulders nudged her down to sit on a stair, head craning back. "Stay here," he ordered, dashing down and out of sight.

Vash rushed out into the street, blending in with the other people agape at the scene unfolding. They all stared at a woman who looked like someone's mother, complete with apron and everything, holding a handgun to a man's forehead. The man was bleeding from his side, clutching at the wound with one hand and trying to sit up with the other. "Mary, you crazy bitch," he growled at her.

"She's your daughter, you slime!" she was screaming at him, her face red, her arms shaking. "And you go and tell everybody what you did to her; now it's not a secret, how's she gonna marry? Tell her you're sorry before I kill you, you bastard!"

"You don't know shit," he sneered back. "Mind your own kids! What's my business is-"

"She's your daughter!" Mary wailed, putting her other hand around the handle of the pistol.

"Aren't you going to stop this?" Vanessa whispered frantically into Vash's ear. "Look, he's bleeding out, I need to-"

"Stay back, Vanessa." Vash stared sadly at the girl behind Mary. She couldn't be a day past ten, pretty, with cropped, curly brown hair. The girl's eyes were full of hate, and if she'd been upset to watch her father about to die, she was hiding it really well.

Mary changed aim from the man's head to his crotch and fired. A wail of pain rang out, and all the men watching winced. Though Mary'd missed, the man was now also bleeding from his upper thigh. The pistol trained on his temple again, the hand holding it became steadier. "She's your daughter..."

Vanessa pressed her palms against Vash's back, but he didn't budge. She heard him breathe in sharply, and a thunderclap hit her ears. Eyes trained on the street, she saw Mary clutching at her bloody hand. Vash stepped away from her, and dashed past Mary to grab the pistol from the ground.

The curly-haired girl had been running at it but wasn't fast enough. "Give it back, I have to finish this," Mary begged him.

Medical bag tucked under her arm, Vanessa rushed to the man's side, hands pressing into the abdominal wound.

"Vanessa, I told you to stay back," Vash murmured, walking toward her.

"Help me stop the bleeding, I need-"

"Let him die!" Mary screamed, as the girl crouched beside her.

"If he does, you're a murderer, and you won't get to adopt her!" Vanessa growled, checking that the small caliber pistol had shot clean through, which by luck it had. She began winding thick medical tape around his gut and his leg, and went back to pressing on the wounds.

The shrill cry of a child filled the air, and she looked up to see Vash grab the girl around her chest, a switchblade falling from her little hands into the dust beside Vanessa. The girl was screaming not to touch her, and when Vash did as told, she ran back to hug Mary.

Vanessa's eyes met Vash's for a second, and she saw the emotion.

Hanging his head, Vash knelt on the other side of the now-unconscious man, clamping his hands against the wounds until the paramedics came.

Watching them carry him away, Vanessa kept running over and over in her head how long it'd taken for Vash to act.

"Let's get cleaned up," Vash muttered, not surprised that nobody was thanking them. He followed Vanessa back up the stairs and down the hall to the bathroom, where they stood at the sink and took turns scrubbing with soap, till all the red was gone.

Knives' heavy footfalls entered the open bathroom, and he scowled. "Are you hurt."

Vanessa dried her hands on one end of a fresh towel, Vash at the other. "We're fine, no big deal. I am so hungry..." Seeing their confused expressions, she added, "What? I've been in medicine for a long, long time. That stuff doesn't make me lose my appetite."

"Still, the-"

"Don't put her so close to danger," Knives interrupted him, poking at his chest with an accusing finger.

"I told her to stay back," Vash argued, voice hinting at anger. "And she's safe. As promised. I saw you watching from the window, not doing anything to-"

"To help the humans? I'd have let it happen, but you had to be the hero. Ridiculous. When I saw Vanessa involve herself I was about to join you, but I trusted you."

"And I didn't let you down. Did I."

"No, you didn't."

"Dinner?" she interrupted, brushing past them to retrieve their food from the stair. She laid everything out on the end table and brought a forkfull of noodles into her mouth, watching them come inside and shut the door.

Knives took up his box and sat beside her on the bed, eating as well.

They finished most of their meal, Vash staring out the window down at the street. He doubted he'd be able to eat for days.

"Did you rent another room as I'd asked," Knives muttered between bites.

She nodded, setting the key on the table beside Vash's cooling dinner.

"Good, now Vanessa can have her own-"

"Vash, it's for you," Knives interrupted, chuckling to himself.

"No way I'm-"

"Yes, Vash, you are," she argued, tossing him the key, which he easily caught. "We were thinking, it's time you got used to being away from us, so you can make your decision about whether you want to join them or us. It's just a couple of rooms away."

"I believe we'll enjoy the guilty luxuries of living here a few more days before heading back to the cave," Knives announced, to the surprise of both Vash and Vanessa.

"So soon?" she squeaked.

"I don't relish the thought of you wrist deep in their blood every day as it is; today you're doing so in the street, and the blood is that of an incestuous pedophile. Even from the window I can see the lust in the eyes of the men watching you walk past. The very food we eat can be traced back to plant enslavement. I could go on."

Obediently, she clamped her mouth shut. There was no reason to argue.

Vash touched his Colt, the barrel still warm. He picked up his duffel and walked out of the room.

After a beat, Vanessa grabbed Vash's box of food and rushed out, explaining aloud, "He'll get hungry eventually..."

In the hall, Vash was standing at his room, turning the key in the lock.

She held out his food. "Everything's going to work out. You'll see."

Tossing his bag into the room with a thud, Vash stared at the room's sole window. "Shut up, Vanessa."

Standing there, the weight of his dinner seemed too much, and she set it on the floor of the hall between them. She spun round to walk away.

"Come talk with me," he asked, voice low.

"He's expecting me back. We can talk tomorrow after-"

"Make him sleep," Vash whispered, pointing at the book ever at her hip.

Vanessa peered at him questioningly. "You told me to never do that again..."

"Changing my mind. Do it, and come to my room. I need to talk to you."

She nodded, and they parted ways in the hallway.

OOO

An hour passed. Sunset passed. Two hours more.

Vash sat in the lone chair in his very small room, waiting with a heavy heart. It was taking too long for her to arrive, he thought, and as his mind usually did when he knew they were alone together, he worried that his brother was not controlling himself. He'd never left them alone together for this long, not since Bering.

When finally a knock snapped him from his anxious thoughts, he tugged on a cord attached to the door latch to unlock it from where he sat. Lifting his colt and taking aim at the doorway, he watched the doorknob turn. His aim was on her as Vanessa stepped into the room.


	22. Alone With Her

"Vash. You had me scared for a moment," Vanessa whispered, turning to lock the door behind her. She glanced at the rope fastened to the door, which he dropped. "Old habits die hard?"

"Yeah." The only free place to sit was his bed, which she chose. Vash asked, "Is he out?"

"Like a light, and then some. It's technically more like a coma; I have another page to bring him back out. But he won't know otherwise; he'll dream."

Slumped into the hard-backed chair, Vash did not turn to face her. Sliding the Colt back into the holster at his hip, he closed his eyes. "Will you give up this plan of yours, if I have a better one?"

"I'm listening."

"We incapacitate him; you cut out his gate."

"Look at me when you say that."

Vash scooted his chair around and lifted his eyes to meet hers, serious as could be. "I want you to surgically remove his gate. Disarm him."

"This doesn't sound like Vash. This isn't your style." She thought a moment. "He may not be able to live without a gate."

"You do."

Vanessa shook her head. "I still have some left. Enough to be capable of murder, when I invented a way to. We'd have to remove the whole thing to be sure he's harmless, and it's possible it would kill him."

"I'll bet on it won't. Either way..."

She set her jaw, studying his face. He looked so tired and angry. Her face felt hot, as she got angry, too. "Sure thing, Vash, one core-removal, coming right up. When he's under for the declaw I'll just do a neuter, too; kill two birds with one stone."

"I'm thinking about it."

"Oh, come on, Vash!" She threw up her arms and dropped them with a slap on her thighs. "Listen to yourself! Do you honestly want to decide to do this to someone – to anyone? Wouldn't it be fair to let him choose death, over that kind of mutilation?"

"Vanessa, don't defend him. He doesn't deserve it."

"Maybe he does. He hasn't actually done anything wrong for a while now. Maybe he'll end up being the kindest lover I've ever had."

He shuddered. "I can't let you do this."

"I don't need your permission. But I'm asking you to trust me, and when one day we're gone, promise you won't look back."

Vash shook his head, 'no,' and dug his fingers into his hair.

"Stubborn...I'm going to give you your dream whether you think you want it or not."

"I might rather have you."

"You-" Vanessa paused, unsure she'd heard him right. "Wait, what?"

"I'm sorry. I have feelings for you," Vash admitted, staring at the floor.

"Wow. You do realize that when I kissed you I was demonstr-"

"I know. That's not what did it. _I've_ been with women before; I know the difference between love and lust."

"It'll pass."

He shrugged. "I'm not expecting you to feel much for me. That's understandable. But my point is, there's simply no way that I can live with myself knowing you're...God, how do you even describe it...that you're letting my brother, in ignorance, rape you? Forever?"

"Oh, please," she replied with her eyes shut, chuckling dismissively. "That's a misuse of the word. It's something entirely different – I'm going to enjoy it."

"Pff. If you're comfortable pretending you're heartless, I'm not going to fight you about it. I'm just saying, no matter how great the cost, I can't let you submit to being my brother's whore."

"Ouch. Given the gory alternative, call me his whore all you want. Go buy your own whore, and don't let your jealousy cloud your judgment."

"Why spend the money? I mean, sex is sex, right, and you just want to help!"

She feigned a smile. "And hey, I wouldn't be repulsed by your body – a real treat from the usual deal with humans – such a hassle to have to keep your clothes on every time, huh?"

He winced. That was a low blow because she'd shared his memories; she knew it was true and she knew how much it hurt him. Frowning, he gestured to the door. "There are other ways to save them that don't involve you pimping yourself for peace."

"You're weaker than I took you for, Vash," she continued, face reddening. "You went through all this shit to help the humans and all it takes for you to forget about them is a kiss, and a hand on your leg?"

"That'd really hurt my feelings if I believed you meant it." Though he was aware that she was purposely trying to fluster him, that didn't mean it wasn't working. "If you ask me, I'd say you're projecting – you're mad at yourself because when you kissed me you liked it more than you thought you would!"

Her fingers gripped at the blanketed bed she sat upon, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "If it seemed that way to you, it just proves how good an actor I am and how naïve you are, you sentimental fool."

"Insulting me only shows how you really feel."

Seething, she stared at him for a long moment, waiting for him to look away. When he didn't, she stood, muttering, "I suddenly feel very eager to get to bed." She reached for the doorknob, adding, "Goodnight."

"Wait." Vash stood, too. "Forget what I said. Don't leave. Please. Don't leave yet. Think about it, about the surgery. Removing his gate. All I ask is, please think of it as a possibility. Maybe we ought to come up with a way to save the world that doesn't involve martyrdom."

Vanessa traced the edge of her book with her finger, eyes on the door.

The room was small, small enough that Vash had to step only two paces to embrace her, which he did. As expected, she didn't fight it. Instead, he felt her relax in his arms, felt her chest heave a deep breath in and out, slowly. He held her to him, stroking her hair, murmuring, "You're not alone anymore."

He felt her take a few more deep breaths and she whispered, "I'm sorry; what I said was cruel..."

"Same here. It's okay, I know why you did," he whispered in reply, rubbing her back supportively.

They stood holding each other for what seemed an eternity. Finally drawing his chin from her shoulder, he kissed her softly on the cheek, and then rested his nose beside hers, his mouth hovering near hers.

She accepted his invitation, opening her mouth to his, and they kissed deeply. A soft moan escaped her. They sidestepped slowly toward the bed, her fingers working at the buttons of his shirt, as if eager to prove that she honestly didn't find his body repulsive at all.

OOO

Tiptoeing down the inn hallway from Vash's room to her own, Vanessa hoped not to wake any of the inn's other inhabitants. It was something past midnight. She turned her key in the lock, heard the click, and pushed the door open just wide enough to squeeze through. Latching it shut behind her, she surveyed the room, and saw Knives still asleep on the bed.

Of course he was, she thought, reminding herself that she would have to use a page in her book to wake him, anyway. At least she could get in a few hours of sleep before sunrise, when she planned to wake him with the page, and pretend to be asleep for a little while afterward to prevent any suspicion. Untying a scarf from about her ears, she laid it on the bedside table, and after unbuckling her belt she set that and its attached book there as well.

"Stand still and quiet, or the humans in this building die."

Vanessa's breath caught in her throat. Her hand moved slowly toward the book on the table. "Knives? What did you say?" It took all her effort to hide her fear when she spoke.

She heard the squeaking metal spring sound of him rising from his bed and the booted footfalls behind her. "Do your pretty ears fail you? I said, I will kill everyone in the inn if you cry out."

"Why? I was just coming back from the bathr-"

"No more lies." He stood so close to her she could feel him breathing angrily through his nose at the back of her neck. Snatching the leather-bound book from the table, he let the holster slide to the floor.

She took a breath and mustered courage enough to call his bluff. "Knives, I don't believe you'll use your weapon here. You wouldn't want Vash to feel that and come to fight you-"

"You wouldn't like to see me maim him," he sneered in a low reply, through gritted teeth, "Try me."

She bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder to see him leafing through the pages in the moonlight. Moments passed in silence, until he dropped the book into a short, metal trash can, prompting her to yelp despite herself.

He grabbed her by the shoulder and, with a dull rip, tore open the top seam of her sleeve, pulled it free and off of her arm, and then did the same to the other. The elaborately embroidered sleeves were tossed into the can as well. A cold tin of liquid pressed into her hand. She looked down and read the label: kerosene.

"Burn them."

Vanessa felt like throwing up. "Please..."

"Burn. Them. Now." His voice was icy and frightening.

She contemplated tossing the accelerant on him, which would only make him angrier. Lip quivering, she popped the cap from the can of kerosene, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. "Please don't...d-declaw...me..." she whispered in a nervous stutter. The irony was not lost on her. "Please..."

His hand shot out to grip hers, squeezing her fingers between his and the kerosene, forcing her to pour it in the trash can to soak its contents. "Not a sound," he whispered, as he struck a match and dropped it to ignite the can. The whoosh of the flames was punctuated by the dull clang of the empty tin hitting the floor.

Vanessa's throat made a noise like a balloon deflating. She would have dove for her book, but it was already too late. "One hundred years," she gasped, staring into the flames. Her hands rubbed against her bare arms.

"Pull on your cloak and your pack," he commanded, pointing at the items in the corner. "Don't waste time, or people will die on our way out."

Defeated, she did as told, hands shaking as she pulled the straps of her already-packed bag over her shoulders. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Knives crouch down to pull on the heavier of the packs, laden with filled canteens. Seizing the chance to escape him, she let the shoulder straps slide from her arms and rushed for the door.

The rug slid from under her, tugged away by Knives' boot, and she landed painfully on her side.

Knives stood, buckling his pack across his chest. He glared down at her as she struggled to lift herself on one hand. Bending to lift up her backpack, he tossed it at her feet. "Now."

"I think you broke my arm," she snapped, cradling it to her chest.

He tugged her hood up to hide her ears, and pulled her pack over his shoulder. "We're leaving. You are to walk beside me and say nothing. Do nothing, save to follow my lead. Understood?"

"Knives..."

"Understood?" he growled.

She felt she might faint, never having been so afraid of him before, even in Bering. "Understood," she mouthed.

Quickly, quietly, the two disappeared from the room, from the inn, from March, and were but a speck on the horizon once the first sun of Gunsmoke peeked over it.


	23. Consequences

Waking to the sweet sound of a bird chirping outside his window, Vash smiled at the new day. He felt phenomenal.

He jumped out of bed, grabbed fresh clothes and walked to the bathroom, oblivious to the fact that he was wearing only sleep pants, something he'd normally be incredibly self-conscious about. No one happened to notice, and he locked himself inside to take a quick bath.

Whistling a happy tune to himself, he dried up and dressed, leaving the bathroom to the next, waiting patron. The first light of second sunrise peeked through the bedroom window as the door closed behind him. He fought his tie as he stepped down the hall. Checking that his Colt was secure in his hip holster – in March it wasn't so strange for most professions to carry a sidearm at all times – he was ready for work. Vash took a deep breath, and reminded himself to not smile too naturally when the door opened. He knocked four times in the pattern Knives would recognize.

The door nudged open on the last rap, hanging ajar to his great surprise. Locked doors don't do that. "Vanessa? Knives?" he asked hopefully, pushing the door open the rest of the way, peering inside.

Within there was nothing. Well, there was furniture, beds with the sheets rumpled like they'd been slept in and that ugly painting of a vase, but not much else. An acrid, sour smell hit his nostrils. It took him several pounding heartbeats to enter, trying to digest it all. He searched everywhere, for some sign of struggle, some clue, some hope.

"Oh, God!"

Vash swung round to face the young woman he'd startled so badly she'd cried out. She recognized him and put her fingers to her lips. "I, I know you all paid another week but she said it was okay to keep the money so we're gonna rent it to the newlyweds so I gotta clean it and-"

"Wait! Wait. Did you see Vanessa? Did you talk to her? Was she hurt?"

Olive, as her name badge identified her, stared up at the tall man who was all business all the sudden. Gulping, she realized maybe he wouldn't be so angry about them renting out the paid-for room after all. "Yeah. I fell asleep at the counter again, and she didn't say a whole lot. Basically just, 'we're leaving, keep the balance, thanks.' She and the other guy were dressed for travel. There was nothing wrong with her, she looked pretty, as usual. They didn't tell you...?"

"Shit."

"Oh, I'm sorry mister, for you to hear it from me, I..."

"Why does it smell like burning in here," he demanded to know.

"I'm gonna have a hard time airing that out, ain't I? They burned something in a trash can before they left. Perfect guests besides that..."

"Where's the can?"

"Well, back by the trash, I-"

"Do you remember _anything_ else? I...I..." Vash's mind raced for a lie. "She left her meds with me, and she needs these, you know, so I-"

"I understand, mister, I do. I'd told you everything I know. I didn't even see which way they turned on the street. It was about one thirty when she talked to me. I'm sorry..."

"It's not your fault. It's all my fault," he muttered, sounding a little unbalanced. He dashed out, down the stairs, over to the smelly trash can. Undisturbed within it lay ashen fabric and the spine of a book. Lifting the spine out carefully, the last of what pages remained crumbled away. Vanessa's book. He moaned pitifully.

Collapsing against the dumpster, Vash dropped his head into his arms. He was too shocked to cry, to move. If she was going to disappear one day like she'd said, he expected he would have been given a note. And surely she didn't willingly let her book be burnt!

Jumping to his feet, he flew back up the stairs to his room, tugging the tie away. Digging inside his bag, he pulled out the gift from the people of the flying ship, a new red coat. It unfurled when he pulled it free, and a piece of paper fell on the floor.

Stooping to pick it up, he expected to see a note from Sensei or something of the sort, but his knees buckled when he saw Rem staring up at him instead. The drawing was in ink, on a cut of cardstock no bigger than half a double dollar bill, perfect for a wallet. It looked more like Rem than he remembered her looking in real life, even. There was no signature, but there didn't need to be.

The red coat crumpled into his lap as he sat against his bed, on the floor, staring at the picture. Rem told him to take care of Knives. Her dying words.

Vanessa told him it wasn't his job to do anymore. She'd taken over. Vash felt the tears finally fall, gasping for breath, having not realized he was holding in his breath at all. He pressed the red coat's fabric against his face to absorb his tears, allowing himself to indulge in the pain a while longer. There was a decision to make and he wasn't ready yet. Maybe he never really would be.

His head suddenly snapped up and he grew still as death. Wet eyes flung wide open and he clutched his coat, listening, waiting. When his mind finally began working again, he was on his feet, pulling on his coat, spinning the chamber of his gun, and less than a minute later he was running out of March for good.

OOO

Earlier that morning, just before first sunrise, Vanessa found herself tugged over a sand dune. She did her best to keep the arm she was sure was broken clutched against her ribs to lessen the pain.

"Knives," she tried, fairly sure he wouldn't listen to her this time either.

He said nothing, jaw set, focusing forward, his fingers pressing into the bare flesh of her upper arm.

"Knives, my arm's broken..."

After a moment, she tripped, and he tugged her to her feet, pulling her to walk even faster. Glancing from him to the horizon, she saw a town, though she wasn't totally sure which one. It was small. But it might have a healer.

"Good, we can have someone see to my arm."

Saying nothing still, he picked up the pace, almost jogging. She could hardly keep up, and when his grip around her upper arm became more like a vice than a hand, she whined, "You're hurting me! Slow down and let-"

Before she could finish the sentence, he did as she was going to ask, causing her to fall back into the sand. She landed painfully on her broken upper arm, and it took her a moment to shift onto her ankles. Their bags were in the sand beside her, and Knives was running toward town. Unsure what to think, she lost sight of him around the corner of a building.

In a flash, her back arched against the blinding pain. A metallic clang filled the air, punctuated by a couple of distant screams, then more pain with a clang, and silence.

Gulping in air, her back ached with the memory of pain. She patted at her back with her good hand, finding it reassuringly dry. After climbing to her feet, she stared at the town, and broke off into a jog toward it.

The buildings are all a little crooked, sliced, and awkward. She wondered why people had splashed bright red paint on everything, and why some careless butcher had left carcasses laying about. Stopping to catch her breath beside a pile of steaks, everything seemed eerily silent, and she stared down at the meat beside her foot, illuminated by the reddish light of second sunrise.

She vomited into the sand. The meat was wearing clothes.

A wide-eyed, disembodied head lay like a kick-ball nearby.

Knives rounded the corner, sleeve torn off, panting. "Stay out of the blood." He disappeared from her view, into a general store.

She stumbled away from the meat and fell to her knees in a relatively clean patch of dirt, eyes scanning the damage radiating around her. A brick laying on the ground beside her caught her eye, an edge sliced into it so neatly it almost shined. She'd seen this before, many years ago. Her heart raced, head pounded, and she mentally begged someone to wake her.

Walking out of the store, stuffing things into a bag, Knives left bloody bootprints as he approached. He stopped for a moment to rub his soles dry in the dust. Crouched in front of her, sweat glistening on his face, he sounded tired but pleased, like he'd finished a refreshing workout. "Drink," he insisted, pressing a cool bottle of water into her palm.

Vaguely aware she was in shock, she lifted the bottle to her lips to let the cold of the water burn her throat. Her eyes followed Knives' hands as he arranged various foodstuffs and bottles he'd just stolen into his pack. Dropping the empty bottle into the dirt, she panted to catch her breath.

Her cloak had fallen open, and he watched her chest heave, breasts rising and falling hypnotically. Licking his lips, he crawled forward, pulling her to him by the waist. She didn't resist as he leaned her back on the ground. Awash with adrenaline, he pushed her thighs aside with his knee and bent forward on his hands, hovering over her. Her eyes were shut tight, cheek pressed against the ground. He set his knuckle along her chin to force her to face him. "Look at me."

She did not open her eyes to obey. Her body trembled against his. Knives suddenly felt cold, empty. He couldn't continue.

After drawing in and loosing a particularly deep breath, he helped her to her feet and led her north, out of town. Knives carried all of their supplies and, though he insisted in holding her good hand, he was gentle about it this time around.

OOO

Vash found himself a few hours outside of March, in a little village called Aires, population formerly twenty-two, an hour's walk from Camton. Camton authorities were already on the scene, and too busy to notice the red-coated stranger arrive. Keeping out of sight, Vash's blood ran cold when he came upon the first corpse. There could be no doubt. Knives did this.

Knives did it because of him.

Besides a couple of empty, personal-sized water bottles on the clean ground outside a general store, there was no clue for Vash here, either. Too angry and tired to cry, Vash stepped from the boundary of Aires back into the desert and scanned around him. He had to find them.


	24. No Options Left

She hadn't spoken since the town, but she was weary and in pain, and needed to rest. Perhaps he sensed this, because he dropped their packs to the sand at the valley of a dune and pulled loose a canteen for them.

Vanessa fell onto her knees as soon as his hand let hers go. She tugged off her cloak and clutched at her arm.

He crouched and held out the canteen to her after he'd drunk enough, but she ignored him.

Her fingers pressed into her skin, which felt fevered and tender. She winced once she found the spot, and began surveying the damage. "I have to set it," she mumbled, voice cracking.

"You're exaggerating."

"I'm not, it's broken. It's already fevered and I can feel the edges of the break."

Pausing, he stood watching her for a moment. "I thought you were being dramatic."

She gazed up into his eyes. "Did you really just kill an entire village of people?"

He stared back, surprised she sounded so melancholy about it. "Vanessa, they're nothing."

"They were innocents, Knives. How could you just slaughter innocents? How do you justify that?"

"They were humans. Insects. No human is innocent. Certainly, they had nothing to do with our immediate affairs, but if I hadn't vented myself on them I feared I would on my brother or you. A plant's life is worth countless human lives."

"You have this all backward!" she yelled at him, hugging her arm to herself. "You've just done a terrible thing! You should be ashamed!"

"So should you," he snapped, narrowing his eyes at her.

"What did I-"

"I _know_. I wish I didn't, but I do."

Soft, empty sounds of wind filled the pause.

Knives sighed, picking at his fingernails. "I have been betrayed by him many times before. Perhaps in his mind it was no betrayal – I'd offered to share you. But you...you simply betrayed me."

Vanessa stared down at the sand, unsure if she'd heard him right about sharing. Glancing up, her mind fought to change the subject, and fast. "You've a little more black in your hair now."

He touched his temple. "Yes, _that_ is unfortunate. But worth keeping you safe from my anger." Sighing, he crouched beside her. "I'm going to set the bone now."

"Forget that. You just killed people. To vent. As if that were not a big deal. And me...Frankly, it's a trifling matter considering what's already been done, but, what am I doing here?"

"You told me you'd be with me."

"I hadn't equated decapitated heads rolling across the sand to being with you."

"You shouldn't see that again. I hope to keep you from being near that much gore."

"Okay, that's a relief, but-"

"Are you ready?" he asked, his hands hovering over her skin.

"Just, just do it quickly."

He pressed his hands against either side of the break, noting the swelling, the fever of the skin. She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath in and out, and at that he tugged her arm on either side away from the break and back together. A growl escaped from deep within her throat.

Hissing breaths came from her mouth, and she pressed her fingers into the skin, as he waited. Her eyes watered. "Try again."

"Vanessa, it's fine, I'm sure I-"

"Do it again. It's not set."

He frowned. It made him feel nauseous but he did it again, and she cried out in pain, louder this time, but when she felt it she nodded.

Knives busied himself in the pack for something to splint it with, and settled on a telescoping roasting stick, for cooking meat over a fire. He snapped it into a few even pieces, and used some bandages she pulled out of her bag to wrap her arm. When she said it would do, he demanded she finish the canteen, which she did without argument, before they stood and continued walking, her hand in his.

OOO

The day seemed terribly long. Vanessa did her best not to think about Aires anymore. She'd just remembered what the town was called, and didn't want to think of the name ever again. That'd make this all so much harder. At least the incident had left Knives seemingly relieved of his anger. He seemed somber, focused. On what, she couldn't be sure. However, she was sure that no matter how he knew, he knew, and perhaps if she addressed that straightaway, things would get better.

Knives let loose her hand after nightfall, when it was time to camp.

By that time, she'd worked up the courage to say it. "Knives, I'm sorry for what I did. Last night was a mistake. I apologize. But that was _one night_, and we have-"

"When you used your book, your influence on me, I tolerated it. I did not understand why. And when I asked myself," he continued, staring out at the starry sky, "why would she willingly be with me if she didn't want it? I thought, if he asked her to, why would she accept? Now I realize, you would do this, for him."

"No, not for him. _Because_ of him. Because he's right. Love and peace, that sounds silly when he says it, but the bottom line is there's no good reason to slaughter them. Revenge breeds revenge. They're leaving. Every human, leaving. All those plants they used? Staying with us. Should you destroy them all, should the humans not retaliate by destroying the plants and you, you'd only end up alone. Thoroughly alone. I couldn't look at you after that. I couldn't forgive myself for not stopping it. You don't have a reason to do this anymore." Taking his hand in hers, she squeezed it softly. "Knives, I don't believe your heart is in this."

"This is why you reciprocated my affections."

"I didn't mean it in jest. I wasn't trying to hurt you. I thought it was what you wanted. All I ask is that you end this war you keep starting, that you accept that it's over. Retire from it with me." She took a deep breath, and held the back of his hand against her cheek. "You can do whatever you want, to me. I'll do whatever you want me to do. I will devote my body, mind, and soul to becoming a companion worth letting them go someplace far, far from us."

Knives frowned, pressing his other hand's fingers against his temples. "My goal in life has been to free our race from slavery. Surely you see the conflict, Vanessa, in your essentially offering yourself as a slave to me."

"Semantics. I'm choosing to be your companion. You will not regret this. Let me show you." She placed her hand on his chest and leaned in close, by his ear. Whispering, she gave a suggestion of what she would do to him in that moment, if he'd only give his word.

Knives breathed aloud as a surge of heat ran through him, and his hand clutched at hers. He spoke low and clear so she would know he was serious. "Don't ever, _ever_ make an offer like that to me."

"Knives, I'm not playing, I will, right now-"

"Do not touch me. If you...if you offer anything like this again, I will hurt you, to stop you. Understood?"

"No...no, I don't..."

"I ache for you, Vanessa, but you do not want me. I can't bring myself to ignore that."

"With time-"

"Perhaps. But I warn you not to pretend. I will not endure it anymore." He stared icily into her eyes, watching it sink in, watching her confidence dissolve, until she looked away and her shoulders slumped.

Vanessa tugged her cloak about her with one hand the moment he let it go. She felt so tired but didn't want to sleep, anymore than she had wanted to eat the dinner Knives had commanded her to eat a while earlier.

Knives rolled out his sleeping bag and crawled inside. He held the flap open, not looking at her while he barked, "Come here."

She eyed the sleeping bag and hugged her legs to her chest.

"You will sleep beside me."

"You're confusing me, Knives," she told him, her voice muffled behind her knees.

"I am keeping you under my protection against your will," he reasoned aloud. "I expect you to be angry about this. But I also expect you to do as I say when I say it so I don't have to waste time, energy, and my temper making you."

If there was any use arguing, she might have continued. She was very cold, and very tired. Feeling a lump in her throat, she seated herself on the open part of the sleeping bag and tucked her legs inside, smoothing down her dress as she did so. Her left arm was splinted and tied against her chest, below her breasts, and she lowered herself carefully onto her right elbow.

He laid down on his back, his left arm out at his side for what she guessed he meant as her pillow, leaving her only the option of laying at his left. Taking deep breaths, she lay on her right side, as any other position would put pressure on her swollen break. Edging back as far away from his body as she could, she was still only inches from him. Her temple pressed against a muscle in his upper arm.

"Stop clicking your teeth," he demanded, yawning.

Her teeth were, in fact, chattering, and she was shivering as well, despite the warmth within their cocoon. The comforting discomfort of her holster belt was missing. When she tried to take a calming breath through her nose, she smelled Knives distinctly, which kept her from imagining she was anywhere else.

He felt a shudder via his arm. "If you're cold-"

"I'm warm," she sputtered, voice breaking.

After a pause, he asked, "Your arm pains you?"

Clenching her teeth to stop the chattering, she could do nothing to still her shivers.

"Move closer, I'll warm you-"

His words were interrupted by a sad sort of whimper. "Please don't."

"Oh, you're just upset with me."

"I'm powerless," she whispered. "It's...terrifying."

Knives burned her designs, caused her to break her arm, showed her a slaughter, nearly forced himself on her for the second time, and when he thought of that in the scope of a 12 hour period, he supposed she had an excuse to be fussy. Even as a child, the ships' computer system gave him the satisfaction of controlling his environment; he'd never been so powerless as she.

He'd also never been as fortunate. She was fortunate to be so powerless, because that ensured her safety and comfort. She was fortunate that he'd chosen to keep his urges at bay, even at that moment actively denying the temptation to reach over and search her body with his free hand, let alone what else he imagined doing. Most of all, she was fortunate to have his devoted protection. He wondered if he should remind her of the myriad of things she had to be fortunate of, but he was tired. Satisfied to feel her breath on his skin, he had no trouble falling asleep under the stars that night.


	25. Independence

The soap in her hands had a faint smell of berries, and little flecks of red in its smooth, white surface. In her mind flashed an image of a woman sliced up on blood-muddied sand.

She shut her eyes tightly, and dropped her hands into the warm water. Vanessa took a deep, cleansing breath, and upon opening her eyes she stared out at the ceramic rim of the bathtub, the chrome spout lazily dripping. The wall formerly separating the bathroom from the bedroom was carved away and swung to the side like a massive door. The innkeeper charged a lot for this room, and when he saw the damage he'd know it wasn't enough. But they'd be gone by then.

"Clean your hair."

"I already did," she muttered, glancing at him in the corner of her eye. He'd pulled a chair a couple of feet from the tub, seating himself with his arms across his chest.

"Do it again," Knives commanded in his soft-voiced way.

Frowning, she dunked her head back into the water and rubbed the soap against her hair. It grated against the grit, the sand stuck in her hair after their 3 days out of March. "Perhaps you're ready to let me know, now that you have me at your disposal, what do you want from me?"

He slouched into his chair a little. "I want your safety. I want your loyalty. I want you to look at me as though you aren't disappointed that I'm near."

"I want those things, too. And I want to make you happy as well, if you'd just-"

"Do _not_ offer-"

"I wasn't. I'm not pretending. I just think if you were happy, if you were truly happy, you wouldn't feel this need to hurt, to destroy. You'd appreciate that everyone else just wants to be happy, too."

"Don't spout his philosophy to me," Knives snapped, again avoiding the mere use of his brother's name.

"I'm not. This is me talking. Tell me what I can do to make you happy, and you can see for yourself if I'm right. I can sing to you, I can hold you, rub your feet, we can go back to the cave..."

"Give me independents."

"I think you're confused, Knives. Independence is what I want _you_ to give _me_."

Knives was very confused until he realized the miscommunication. Glancing back down into her eyes, he smiled slightly. "Not independence the abstract concept. Sentient, independent plants plural. Some good can still come of your offer to me."

Vanessa became dizzy all the sudden. Her ears buzzed. Searching for a response to that, she finally choked out, "You told me not to...not to offer myself to you..."

"You don't have to in order to conceive, Vanessa. Perhaps you assume I'm more naïve than is true. Though I would attempt to make the experience _tolerable_ for you, given your attitude toward me you would probably dislike it. I adamantly demand that you behave honestly, to not put on an act for my benefit. But, for the good of our endangered race, you should bear my children."

She choked in a breath. "That would make you happy?"

"It would."

"Will you promise not to...not to..." What word would make her the least uncomfortable? 'Inseminate,' 'impregnate,' these words seemed too intimate, and considering the plant angle there were 'fertilize,' 'pollinate,' but those seemed silly in context. Vanessa admonished herself for not considering this facet of sex in her plan. To Knives, sex wasn't just about pleasure and affection. The penultimate purpose of sex is, after all, to reproduce. She gave up trying to force a synonym for it out of her throat. "Will you promise...not to do this to me until after the humans are gone?"

"If you feel that a fair arrangement."

"Give me your word."

He stood from his seat and knelt beside the bathtub. Resting his elbows on the edge, his fingertips skimmed the surface of the water, but his eyes kept trained on hers. "If you promise to bear my children after the humans are gone, I promise to wait until then to impregnate you."

"Then I promise to allow you to make as many sentient plants with my body that you can, so long as you keep your promise."

Knives smiled. "Good. I prefer that we agree on this than for me to force it upon you otherwise."

Sinking into the water deeper, she wondered if he meant to say that aloud.

"For what it's worth, I understand your discomfort," Knives offered, helpfully explaining, "As the female you're blessed with the ability to create new life, but cursed with the pain and trouble of the task. I'll do what I can to make it easier for you."

She wanted desperately to move on and stop talking about fertility. "Do you feel better?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's good, I suppose. In the meantime, what should I do? Just follow you around as a trophy, a concubine? Be a good, silent little pet?"

"Very funny. You're not my pet, Vanessa. You're my equal."

"Doesn't feel like it. You don't tell me anything and you bark orders at me all the time."

"Then I'll tell you where we're going," he began, glancing up at the ceiling as he spoke. "We're headed to my residence north of May. There are probably still encampments of fanatic plant worshipers nearby, waiting to eagerly protect us once we're within the compound. Don't worry, it's not as my brother had said. You'll be perfectly safe. They're dangerous, terrible vermin, but they won't dare touch or look upon you. I wouldn't let them if they tried."

"Don't you think Vash will know to look for you there?"

"Probably. From the sound of it, we both believe he's searching us out, hmm? Do you believe he's searching for me, or for you?" he asked, amused.

Vanessa scoffed. "You killed a village, so my money's on you."

Smiling, he tapped a finger against his temple. "My brother may _want_ to believe that human lives are as important as ours, but I would wager he considers yours more valuable than many towns-worth of humans. Which is not to insinuate that he's wrong; I feel that more strongly than he is capable." Stepping back to his chair, Knives paused, reflecting on what he'd said, before announcing, "Would you like to write him a letter?"

She choked on the shock and coughed for a moment. "What?"

"Write him a letter. Tell him to come and _save_ you from me. I believe I'll have to kill him if he comes, but that's in your hands."

She rose out of the water, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Water rolled off nude flesh as she stood there, and this body she stared at was not hers. Not anymore.

Wrapping a towel around herself, she contemplated his suggestion, and suppressed the hope it invoked in her. Again, she reminded herself, she belonged to Knives. It would be best to remember that.

Pulling her clean under-dress over her head, carefully minding her break, she replied casually, "Knives, this is obviously some trick. Some kind of game. I won't play."

Knives' eyes never left her as he watched almost casually. "There are no games left to play, Vanessa. Tell him whatever you want. I won't read it," he offered genuinely.

She turned to the wall and sat rubbing her hair dry against the towel, hearing him undress.

"It won't be so difficult," he added as he lowered himself into the water. "Just write what you would say to him if he were here. I'm sure you've thought up the words already. And don't waste my generosity attempting to sketch one of your designs; I will stop you before anything could affect me and you'll have forfeited the communication."

There were a few sheets of paper and a pen at the bedside table. Vanessa gulped, and took the pen up in her hand. She had indeed thought of words.

Knives rubbed his hands through his soapy hair and was silent as she wrote. He noticed that she paused often, and it took her long enough to write that he had already dried off and dressed himself before she was done. She folded it up and shoved the letter into an envelope as he sat back in his chair, and he pressed his fingers against his temple when he offered, "I'll see that he gets it."

"No," she snapped, tugging on her now-sleeveless gray dress. "Your idea of letter delivery would probably involve a couple of assassins."

He laughed for a moment.

Once the corseted dress was properly tied and fastened, her fingers furiously braided her drying hair, made awkward by the limited mobility of her broken arm. "Let me see he gets it in my own way."

"How ungrateful."

"On the contrary, I simply want him to believe I wrote this." Pulling on her cloak, she went to the door.

"After we eat, perhaps," he replied. "Dinner will be brought to the room momentarily."

"I'll eat when I'm back."

"Let me wrap your arm."

Glancing at the afternoon sky peeking through the windows, Vanessa frowned. "I'll miss my chance if I don't leave now. You can wrap my break later. If I'm not back in twenty minutes, come find me."

Knives said nothing from his seat, only watching her as she stepped out the door.

OOO

As Knives pinned her to the sand, Vanessa screamed, hoarse and crying. She struggled against him but it only drove his blades further into her flesh. He was careful not to let them go too deep, to bleed too much, because he only wanted to play with her. Knives smiled and laughed. When it was beyond doubt what he meant to do, she cried out, "No!"

Vash's eyes flew open, trying to focus on the sun-baked dunes before him. His feet were walking. His fingers were numb against the weight of his duffel's string. His chest ached.

Red coat dancing lazily behind him, his legs marched on.

"She's okay," he mouthed to himself, his throat tight and sore. "She's okay." He shouldn't think so badly of his brother. He shouldn't let his imagination go, and he could hardly believe such horrible things could come from his own thoughts. At least she hadn't had her limbs sliced off this time.

Involuntarily, he groaned. The crimson cast of the sunsets bathed the sands in color, giving the illusion of being washed in blood. Shouldn't think badly of Knives? He'd proven himself already. He slaughtered those people. His brother was capable of horrors he could hardly imagine, but imagine he did.

If only he could shut that part of his mind off, to give himself solace, and the strength of mind to formulate a decent plan. Instead, his lazy daydreams when walking were all filled with visions so vivid he wished someone was around to tell him it wasn't real. Vash felt alone, horribly alone. All the hardship and heartache he'd gone through to find and face his brother, to convince him to concede to a truce, and it was all for naught. It was all lost because he was selfish. He heaved a sob and reminded himself once more that this was all his fault.

If Knives did what he had to those innocent people in Aires, if he was that angry, who knows what he would do to her? Why couldn't he have punished Vash instead? "Vent on me," Vash whispered.

Vanessa's face ground into the clay wall of a dark room. Knives shoved his knee into her back, pressing on her head with a handful of hair. She begged him to stop through her cut, swollen lips, her bruised eyes wincing.

Eyes opening again, Vash noticed he was holding in his breath, and let it go in a slow, lazy puff.

He never envisioned her dead. Knives wouldn't kill her. She was the only female sentient plant. It would be logical to keep her alive. There were uses for her, and his brother was good at using people.

Giving up to exhaustion, Vash's legs buckled under him and he fell to his side. The high collar of his coat kept sand from his mouth, but not from the side of his face. He struggled to stay awake, because he didn't want to imagine anything else. The nightmares were too much; he couldn't bear to let himself actually fall asleep. But it was no use. His body was too tired.

Head spinning, Vash took one last, greedy, desperate sideways gaze up into the darkening sky.

Vanessa was walking a few steps behind Knives in the night. She wasn't bleeding and her limbs seemed unharmed. Her hair hung in her face. As the slight wind lifted it away from her eyes, you could see the vacant expression on her face. All that was Vanessa, simply wasn't there anymore.

Vash thought he heard himself whimper as he slipped into unconsciousness.


	26. Sticky Sweet

"Vash!"

He winced and ducked his head low.

"Vash! I thought it was you!"

Once he'd weaved through the busy street toward the sound of the voice, he held his hands up to shush her. Vash hoped not too many people heard that. He realized he was already conspicuous in his new, red coat. "Hi, there!" he offered, grinning despite his true mood.

The old woman offered a grin of her own. She held a box over the counter of her stand. "For you! My best customer."

Vash took the dozen donuts from her and pressed bills onto the counter.

"You weren't planning on blazing through without visiting my stand, were you, sonny?"

"No, of course not, Ms. Winnifred," he said dismissively, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm just kind of..._distracted _at the moment."

"I'll try not to let it hurt my feelings, then," Winnifred sighed. "Oh, almost forgot." She dug under her counter and drew out an envelope, sticky on one end with donut glaze.

"What's this? My tab?" Vash asked, gazing at the blank front before flipping it over.

She laughed, then coughed. "You know I don't deliver mail to any but my very favorite customers!"

On the center back of the envelope, over the sealed edge, was a tiny sketch of a donut. It was very realistic for its size, and proved the envelope hadn't been tampered with. It also betrayed its author. "Who gave you this?" he snapped.

Winnifred's smile faltered slightly. "Tall, pretty, blond girl. Relative of yours, I reckon? Asked me to give this to you, and along you came!" She brightened. "Glad I caught you!"

"When?"

"Oh, let's see, two, three days ago? "

"Was she alone?"

Winnifred's smile seemed in danger of disappearing completely. "Yes. I really don't know much about anything, you know she didn't even give her name, but she said it was very important that you get that."

Vash wanted to ask so many things, but could tell from Winnifred's face that she knew very little, and was rather hurt at his tone of voice. He pasted his grin back on. "Please forgive me if I'm being rude. I worry about her. Did she seem in good health?"

Smiling back, she nodded. "Seemed fine. Just, in a hurry. I was closing up, so I was, too."

Taking her sticky hand in his, Vash gazed into her eyes with great sincerity. "Thank you so very much, Ms. Winnifred. I am so grateful. Your delicious donuts, and now this letter. Thank you so much."

Blushing, the old woman balked. "T'weren't nothing."

Vash couldn't get into that letter quick enough, but the bustling street was no place to do it. Dashing through the crowd, he stopped at the edge of town, against a building facing the wasteland. Glancing about to be sure he was alone, he slid down onto his rear in the sand. His weary legs thanked him for the respite.

His thumb slid over the donut sketch. Rather than destroy it, he shoved his pinky into the end of the envelope and tugged it open at the side. Blowing a puff of air inside, he tapped out the letter. He took a deep, cleansing breath before reading, his heart pounding like a drum. Almost on its own, his free hand dug a donut from the box and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth as he read.

OOO

Our Dearest,

(Upon reading this completely unexpected opening, Vash choked on his chewed-up donut and spent a sputtering moment coughing it down, eyes watering. He hastily wiped at his face and continued reading through coughs.)

I was hoping this letter would find you, and as you are reading it now, it obviously did. Having someone's memories inside you helps you figure clever ways to give them messages, which is a plus in this case.

Though I'm not sure I can anticipate all of your questions, let my rambling answer a few. I am unhurt and in good spirits. Your brother hasn't done to me what you may think he had. In fact, he has vowed not to take me as his own until after the emigration. I am pleased with our agreement, and he has promised to treat me very well. Though we remain on the move, primarily to avoid you and to find a good place to end up, he ensures we rest as often as I need to, and I never want for water, food, shelter, or warmth at night. He doesn't think like most people, but he is not altogether unreasonable. Unfortunately, he is sometimes completely unreasonable, as you well know, and Aires paid the price for my mistake.

There is no way to be forgiven for Aires. I beg your forgiveness for my part in that tragedy, but can understand if you bear a grudge instead. Those people didn't deserve the hand cruel fate, in this case your brother, dealt them. Not that it justifies what he did, but he didn't deserve to be played as I played him. Nor did you.

I didn't _pretend_ to enjoy your attention. That was genuine. But I fear in retrospect that you may have it confused with something more, somewhat as we'd talked about that very night. Please make no mistake – that night meant nothing. It was as fleeting and meaningless as the enjoyment one may have from a well-cooked meal. You did nothing wrong. I shouldn't have taken advantage.

As for Aires, I won't lie to write that he is sorry for what he did. But I can promise you that it won't happen again. There's no way for you to believe me, so use this to judge me – If you hear news that a single soul was cut down, indicative of your brother's hands-on style, it means I have failed. It means I was terribly wrong, or that something unfortunate happened to me or to your brother. I know in my heart that this will never happen, because of his words and his eyes. Assuming I'm correct, I must demand that you stay well away from us. If I've failed, you will know, and then you should act as you see fit. But otherwise, trust him, or simply trust me.

To answer more of your questions, yes, he knows I wrote you this letter. He didn't read it or dictate it, nor does he know how I got it to you. He knows only that I wrote you whatever I wanted. Believe it or not, it was his idea. Let's see, what else...my book. While that _wasn't_ my idea, I have always known, deep down, that it was wrong to have such designs. They were a horrible temptation. I am free of them now. Of course, I miss them. But I don't need them anymore. And, yes, I went willingly with him. I'd already told you I planned to do it, to disappear. I hope the shock of waking and finding us gone didn't knock my promising to do so out of your memories.

We must be on our way. Please don't look for us. Forget we ever existed – as far as everyone's concerned, we no longer exist. We are a memory. The emigration will solidify that for eternity; a boring, peaceful end to a long struggle. My wish for you is that you go to the town your friends live in, you know the one, and to live out your days before the vacation, playing with children, laughing, enjoying the company of people I haven't the patience or warmheartedness to be around, myself. I hope we never see you again.

Though we were supposed to be three of a kind, in reality I believe we're two of a kind, your brother and I. You were never one of us. You were always one of them. So, please stop pretending otherwise.

Fondest wishes,

A Memory

OOO

"I don't mean to sound like I'm not happy to see you. Because I'm happy – I'm _relieved_ – that you showed up. Hell, I'm not even pissed that you're eating our food or staying in our guest room. But you just haven't really explained why you're here, and I think we deserve an explanation." Meryl huffed, crossing her arms. She was glad to have gotten that out, no matter how horrified Millie looked from the saying of it.

Vash continued to chew the last bite of his toast. Soft, morning light illuminated half his face in their cozy, albeit small kitchen. He looked better rested than he had when he'd shown up the evening before, dismissing himself to bed after a two-day steamer ride to December. Gulping down the rest of his juice to chase his breakfast, he smiled softly. "Of course."

"Well, out with it. What happened after you left Bering?"

Clearing his throat, Vash made a show of glancing about the ceiling, thinking over where to begin. "We walked in the desert. Vanessa told us about a safe place to go, a cave she lives in sometimes. It had a pond with fresh water, and fish and everything. Apparently, you can eat fish raw. So, we stayed there a while, and talked, and such. She sort of grew close to my brother. He showed her how to use her plant weapon."

Millie gasped.

Vash put out his hands. "No, no. It didn't hurt anybody. But it took a toll on her. She can't use her weapon without help, and it's much too harmful for her. Not like me. She's a healer, not a fighter. Anyway, we took her to March, and Sensei visited us to make her feel better from using the weapon that time. Vanessa worked at the hospital a little while once she was herself again. And just like she told me they would, true to her word, one day I woke up and they were gone. Just gone. No trace."

Meryl frowned, unhappy with how he was looking down at the tablecloth when he spoke. "And?"

Peering up, Vash continued. "I think you're going to want to hit me for the next part. I want to hit me for the next part. I'm sure you heard about what happened to Aires."

Meryl and Millie exchanged glances. They'd heard, of course, and had their theories.

"Aires was because he was angry with me."

"So, Mr. Vash, why are you here?" Millie asked, her voice cracking slightly.

"Because Aires is going to be the last time Knives hurts anybody. Ever." Vash patted the side pocket of his red coat. "I have a letter from her, promising me just that. They're together and that means nobody else gets hurt. They're staying on Gunsmoke and the rest of us are all going to leave."

"Mr. Vash, that's wonderful!" Millie exclaimed, hopping from her chair to pump her hands into the air. "Meryl, isn't that wonderful!"

"Well, of course it's wonderful!" Meryl's brows were up in wonder. "We have reports of strange deaths at the bureau. Aires was the last reported such incident. Good for her!"

Rubbing the back of his neck, Vash smiled with his eyes closed. "Yeah, she sure is something!"

Meryl shook her head, incredulous. "You mean it's over? It's really all over? No more assassins or slaughters or quests?"

Vash nodded. "Her letter told me to forget about them and come hang out with you guys. So here I am."

"Come to take advantage of our hospitality, you big jerk," Meryl teased, smiling happily nonetheless.

"Mr. Vash, I have a question?"

They turned to Millie, whose smile had faded. She looked very concerned. "Mr. Vash, I know this sounds mean, but Mr. Knives wasn't always a nice person. I was just wondering, does he treat her like he should?"

Vash smiled with eyes shut again. "He treats her pretty good, yeah. He loves her."

Beaming again, Millie clapped her hands together. "Oh, that's wonderful. I was worried for a second there. You just don't seem very happy about this."

Staring out the window for a moment, Vash swallowed. "I, um. I'm still sort of shocked. After everything, it seems like there shouldn't be such an easy answer to everything."

"We should all count our blessings," Meryl argued, finger in the air. "We're lucky things turned out so well."

Millie was standing beside Vash, patting his shoulder. "I know you must miss them, terribly, Mr. Vash, but they're not the only family you have. We're your family, too!"

Vash breathed a sigh and looked between the two women's fresh faces. "I missed you both. Please don't be late for work on account of me, I have things I'll be doing today."

"Running about with kids?" Millie asked hopefully.

"Poking your nose where it doesn't belong?" Meryl accused with a glare.

"Probably a little of both. See you when you get off work," Vash responded with a wink, heading toward the door with his closed-eye grin pasted across his face.


	27. Making Conversation

With a thud, a chunk of wreckage fell into the sand. The sharp pain in her back subsided, allowing her muscles to relax in relief at the same moment the wave of cool, stale air from within the vessel rushed past her.

Knives' blades were no longer visible, and he craned his head into the new opening before gesturing her forward. "Mind the edges, they're razor-sharp."

She knew full well they were. It seemed everyplace they journeyed, he cut up at least a little something. The edges were always sharp, and he always gave that warning.

Stepping carefully onto the square of metal, she followed him inside. This little wreckage had no plant, but was a sheltered alternative to sleeping on sand. The floor, which was originally a wall, was at a slant. Vanessa saw that Knives had already found a storage area hidden along the adjoining wall, and he was burrowing in it for some centuries-old item of use.

"When you use your blades, doesn't he feel it?" she asked, hearing her voice echo off the metal.

Knives didn't seem to find anything useful, and closed the storage area back up. "No, he does not."

She scratched at the bandages over her healing break. "I can feel it."

He frowned at her. "Because you're close. It's unfortunate that it hurts you, but I have to keep you near."

"How nearby would he have to be to feel you cut open this wreck?"

"Closer than he is, I assure you. We can feel each other only sometimes. Anything on a small scale can't be felt except at a close distance. When we've released a great deal of power, we've felt each other from very far. For example-" He stopped suddenly and grasped her shoulders. A smile crept upon his face as he gazed into her eyes. "Vash destroyed July. Did you know he caused that?"

Vanessa made no attempt to shrug off his hands. She nodded, lips tightly shut.

"He left out the entire truth of it, I'm sure. He obliterated the population of July entirely on his own. And he did it to kill me."

"I know-"

"And you think me the worst?" he snapped.

"Knives, we're monsters." She drew in a deep breath. "I don't think it matters, who's the worst of the three of us. All that matters now is making the right choices moving forward."

He laughed. "You aren't doing so well with that, are you? If you'd made the right choices, I'd be rotting in the ground and you'd be enjoying yourself in his bed. Isn't that right? And why? Did you like the coarse feel of scar tissue against you?"

Vanessa winced as his fingers dug into the bare flesh of her upper arms. Unwilling to respond, she locked her jaw and waited.

His hands let her go, and again a small smile spread across his lips. "Or was it the crying that drew you to him? Is that what women enjoy, a weeping man?"

"Why are you dwelling on past mistakes," she asked through gritted teeth, staring at his chest.

"You've made such an _idiotic_ mistake," he sneered in reply. "If you expect me to control myself, you must expect to be burnt on occasion."

"Well, which burns deeper, your fire for my 'error' or for the humans?"

He seemed to think that over before replying. Busying himself to lay out their travel bedding, he crouched down and was quiet until she seated herself on a blanket. "I used to be white-hot with that rage. Now that we have our plans, I don't feel that way anymore."

She took a deep breath. "You're not so angry with me that you don't look forward to our future here?"

"I'm not exactly angry with you," Knives tried to explain. He had trouble speaking about emotions, and tended to use metaphors to put it better than abstract terms could. "You affect me; fuel to a fire, or a great gust of wind. A tension in my chest, that makes me want to destroy. Otherwise, an anxiety that intoxicates. Anger and excitement are different things."

Vanessa bit her lip as he spoke and set out provisions for her. He had a way of speaking too easily of very powerful things. Though he often reminded her of how she caused his pulse to race, his words made her pulse quicken just as dramatically.

Knives folded his legs and tapped his temple. "I can hold back the force of it while waking, but only then. I dream about you. I'll tell you-"

"No, you can keep that to yourself," she retorted, almost choking on a chunk of granola. "Dreams are private, and yours are none of my business, as mine are none of yours."

"My sleeping thoughts amaze me sometimes."

Vanessa felt her face glowing red and she kept her eyes on her hands. "You can't help what you dream. No need to tell me about it."

Knives nodded. "Fine, then. It's best you don't expect me to rein in my dreams. It's difficult enough to remind myself the dreams aren't real, when I wake to find your body beside mine."

She stared down at her food and absently rubbed at her arms.

"Vanessa, Vanessa," Knives tut-tutted, "I've made a promise I'll keep. If you find me acting on a dream, you should wake me however you want. I suppose a fist or knee to the stomach would be fair and effective in such circumstances." He took a gulp of water, and continued in the same matter-of-fact tone, "When I'm to take you, you will be fully aware, we'll both be awake, and we will be very alone."

She tugged a blanket over her naked shoulders.

After another casual sip of water, Knives held out the canteen. "How much longer do you believe you'll require the splint?"

Glad to change the subject, she shrugged. "A week more. I'll have to be gentle with it for a while after. Where are we headed this time?" Lifting the canteen to her lips, she kept her eyes on him.

Knives frowned and peered off into a dark corner.

He hadn't hidden his disappointment in finding two of his past residences abandoned. It was likely the remainder would be as well – gutted, half-claimed by sand and wind. It had not taken long for him to be forgotten in those places, somehow. Little evidence remained as to why, but he had theories. His primary underlings were no longer alive, the Eye of Michael was probably greatly affected by their critical losses, and in the absence of his great presence the remaining vermin must have simply left. With them, anything of value vanished, and anything else had been ravaged.

Vanessa had seen enough for Knives to be rather embarrassed. He would not lead them into another such situation.

Clearing her throat, she sensed his tension. "We can live anywhere we want, after they're gone. I suppose we could consider the..._wandering_ we've been doing...as surveying things? There are some very comfortable places in settlements, we could-"

"These comfortable places you're thinking of are served by plants," Knives interrupted, resting his icy gaze on her. "At my first chance, I will rest every bulb on this planet. They have served others' comfort too long already."

"We'll have to keep something running," Vanessa argued softly. "The sandstorms don't care what species we are. We have to eat and drink something."

"There is a difference between survival and the hubris of luxury," he continued, gritting his teeth.

To give her hand something to busy itself with, she pulled some of her long hair over her shoulder to pick out the tangles. "I would've thought you'd at least want to live near them. Not far, far away in a cave. They're your family."

"I will share company with them," Knives muttered. "But I won't use them selfishly."

Vanessa nodded once.

After a moment, Knives stretched and yawned. "Surveying is a good idea. I know the planet rather well, but in most places it has been long enough, things have changed. First, though, you will need to learn to keep to yourself better."

"What do you mean by that."

"That nonsense about my being his son," he sneered. "I thought you'd gone mad."

"It scared them off," she argued dismissively. "You look too young to be the legend's brother, so I thought, son would do it, and-"

"We hadn't needed to say a word to them at all."

"No, you could have just killed the three of them outright. Instead, they doubted themselves and forgot about robbing us. I know you didn't like it, but you gave them that frightening glare of yours, that made them believe it. You let them run away. You went along with it."

Rubbing his temples, Knives shook his head. "They were lucky that they hadn't lain a finger on either of us by then."

"I guess they were." She pursed her lips, not sharing her wondering if the one man had been right, about being the governor's son, about putting a bounty out on the two of them? If the threat were legit, that could be a complication she hadn't expected. "I'll have to reveal this imaginary secret again if that's what it takes to-"

"I'll kill who I please," he snapped, indignant. "I can't be faulted for violence in self-defense, or do you subscribe to that masochistic view as well?"

"Harm if it comes to that, fine," she responded quietly, working a tangle out from the ends, "But if you-"

"I know, Vanessa." Knives huffed. He ran the back of his fingers along the hair she was holding, slowly, deliberately. He then repeated the motion with his palm, careful not to let his fingertips snag in her hair. Smirking slightly, he watched her chest rise and fall in the reaction he expected. "You have a way of turning conversation back to him, don't you. I'm not fond of it."

Dropping her hand onto her lap, she made no attempt to shoo him away from stroking her hair, though she burned to demand he grow out his own damn hair and play with that. "I didn't have to share any part of my letter with you. I thought you'd be pleased to know I told him to stay away. But there had to be a caveat. You have to go cold turkey on the murder business. I hoped I could trust you to do me that favor."

Twirling a bit of her hair along his finger, he wondered aloud, "Why would I do that?"

She'd made so many arguments already. Because it would allow him to have her securely. Because it would make everything simpler. Because it kept Knives from expending any more energy. Because it was the rational thing to do. Vanessa swallowed, wincing slightly as his finger caught a hair too tight before it fell away. "Because it would please me."

Knives loosed her hair and scratched his neck. "It would please me if you brushed your hair more often."

She dug around in her pack for a moment and took out her comb. Pulling all her hair round her shoulder with her free hand, she began working at the ends of it. "Knives, I would be happy to brush my hair out every day." It was a struggle to make that sound pleasant, but somehow she managed it. "In turn."

He smiled, pulling two blankets from his bag.

"So, will you consider-"

"Vanessa," he snapped softly. "We'll have to see, what choices I make. Perhaps, as is often the case, I cannot do what you please, for your own good."

Vanessa could only nod slightly, her face betraying some confusion. It was yet another enigmatic statement, simple and warm on the surface, but it could be the hidden snake pit that so many of his statements were.


	28. Coming Clean

Meryl stared at the rickety metal ladder screwed into the side of the building and sighed. There was no room for hesitation. She'd even taken the day off, so she had the time and the drive to do what she meant to do. And for Meryl, taking a day off work was a serious, serious matter.

She climbed the ladder, holding her breath much of the way, and stood with great relief once she reached the top. Feeling her heartbeat quicken, she strode several feet over to where he sat in a folding chair with his back to her. The children had told her truthfully where she could find him, on this rooftop, despite her doubts.

Vash turned his spiked head of hair to the side, and called out, "Yo, Meryl. Is something bad going on?"

"No." She knew what he meant; he'd asked, was there trouble about, for him to rush out and resolve as peacefully as possible, as he had been doing regularly for weeks. "That's not why I'm here," she forced out. "I wanted to-"

She was interrupted by the clanging sounds of someone else clamoring up the rickety ladder. A local boy rushed over, hugging a paper sack to his chest. Beaming, he held it out to Vash.

Vash rummaged in the bag and drew out a paper-wrapped bundle. Setting the sack on the rooftop with a clang, he offered the boy the bundle. "Here's something for your trouble, Johann. Thank you."

Johann, looking about seven years of age, gazed happily down at the big chunk of rock candy in the paper. He grinned wide, exposing spaces where baby teeth had fallen out. "Aren't you gonna check it?"

"Did you give the shopkeeper the list I gave you? And the money?" Vash asked, waggling a finger.

"Yes, I sure did!"

"Then I don't have to check it."

Johann saluted seriously, then ran off to the ladder, descending as quickly as he'd come.

Meryl breathed a sigh. She stepped around to face him, where he sat in his folding chair. "Vash, I need to talk to you-"

Having pulled a full, glass bottle from the bag, Vash had the top off the whiskey and turned it up in the air to take several long, slow gulps.

"Drinking before lunch, Vash?" Meryl admonished, to say nothing of having a minor bring it to him.

"You're not at work," Vash retorted, as though it was as much a sin.

Meryl almost felt like it was. She stopped herself from replying, 'touché.'

"And what's so important, to make an insurance girl leave her post on a weekday?" he asked, wiping his lips.

"Well, for starters, it looks like you're doing what you always do – pretending everything's fine, when in reality you're depressed. What is it, this time?"

"I'm not depressed. I just get sad sometimes. Like anybody."

"Most people don't chug hard liquor at ten A.M. I'm worried about you. You always make me worry about you. So much."

"I'd rather not trouble a kind soul with my thoughts." Vash rolled the bottle in his palms.

"Then this kind soul just wasted eight hours PTO and a treacherous ladder climb for nothing. Spill it or I make you, at gunpoint."

He chuckled, because her threat was legit. When he opened his mouth to speak, he hesitated, his face relaxing to better suit his dark mood. "I'm worried about what my brother's up to."

"Not a whole lot," Meryl interjected. "She's true to her word," she added, referring to Vanessa's letter and pledge.

Rubbing his eyes, he continued. "The calm before the storm, maybe."

"Then he's not giving himself much time to act. He's got very little time left, before the ships get here, and he's spent the past couple of months without killing a single person. I guess it's true what they say; love can really change a person."

Vash groaned. "This wasn't how I wanted it to go. I wish she'd never met us."

Meryl put her hands on her hips and swung her weight to the side. "I would say the same thing, except if she hadn't, he still might have run off from you. Then you'd be stuck hunting him down, knowing he had no reason to behave himself. If she's his reason to behave himself, I'm pleased as could be that she showed up. She's the best thing that ever happened to your brother, and it's about time you enjoyed the freedom you have."

His fingers lifted a small square of paper from a pocket within his coat, where Meryl knew he kept the letter from Vanessa that he wouldn't let her read. Staring down at the little square, he murmured, "He's not her responsibility; he's mine."

Crouching in front of him, she saw he was looking at a picture of a woman she hadn't met, but resembled a little. Before she could ask, Vash volunteered 'Rem' in a whisper. "Your mother. Oh, Vash, she's lovely."

"Vanessa drew it for me. The last thing Rem said to me-"

"'Take care of Knives,'" Meryl recited from shared memory, as she rested her hand over his and gave his big fingers a squeeze. "But, the moment they fell in love with each other, he stopped being your responsibility and became hers."

Grimacing, Vash stared out at the sands in the distance. "She doesn't really love him."

"Well, not like a regular person, but then who could love somebody like him, like a regular person? When you were around them, did she smile at him?" When he nodded slightly, she continued. "Held him?" Again, he nodded. "Is she scared of him?"

"Not as much as she should be," Vash grumbled quietly.

"If his feelings changed him, she doesn't need to be afraid of him. Like you said, he treats her well. That, plus he's not killing anybody. Sounds like things took a turn for the best."

"Knives doesn't play nice. Him caring about someone," he lifted his prosthetic arm for emphasis, "doesn't mean he won't hurt them when he gets angry. Or when he gets selfish..."

Frowning, Meryl squeezed his fingers again. She peered up at him with her soft, sweet eyes and insisted, "Vash, you said he treated her nicely."

"I left out the part where he tried to rape her," Vash admitted miserably. He pressed his chin into his chest to avoid her gaze.

She swallowed, hard. "Back in Bering? Is that how he figured out she was a plant?" Meryl felt nauseous at the thought, but in hindsight it explained a lot.

"And at her cave, when she offered to be his...companion..." Vash ran his free hand roughly through his spiky hair. "I was sitting _right there._ That didn't matter to him. He would've...If I wasn't there to stop him..."

"I don't understand," Meryl muttered, shuddering. "Why would she willingly want to go off with him, if he would do something like that? Is she crazy?"

"She said it'd be better that he do whatever he wants to her, than do whatever he wants to everybody else." Vash let tears fall freely. "It was no less crazy than any plan I could come up with."

"I can see how hard it would be for you to let her make that decision, but-"

"After I told her I was willing to go against what I believe in, to stop him," Vash interrupted, pausing only to suck in a sharp breath. "They disappeared, she wouldn't let me...let me do..."

Meryl pressed his head against her shoulder and let him cry. "You should've told me..."

"What difference does it make; they're out there and I'm supposed to stay out of the way."

"Unless we hear he's killing people, yeah, that's what she told us to do. Maybe we should-"

"I should go find her anyway," he sobbed against her little shoulder.

"Maybe we're better off forgetting about them, and pray our thanks to her once we're safely out in space," Meryl argued, wide eyes flitting around desperately. "What if interfering is the worst thing we can do?"

"I just have to know she's okay. If she can look me in the eye and tell me this is still what she wants to do, staying here with him while everybody leaves...if she looks me in the eye and says that, maybe I can live with it." He rubbed his face with his hands, letting her grip his other hand tightly. "Maybe I can't, and I'll just stay here with them."

"Oh, Vash, you can't," Meryl whined, surprised at the weak sound of her own voice. "You have to come with us!"

"If I can forgive myself for leaving, I'll leave. But I can't leave if I'll hate myself for doing it."

Staring wide-eyed at him, she studied his face, knowing the seriousness of his expression. She searched her mind for words to argue against him, but found no more. If the only way he'd leave with them was for the woman herself to convince him to, she wished she could will Vanessa to the rooftop right then and there, to say the words to sway him. "So, I guess we need a vehicle?"

Vash smiled, a big goofy grin, which was only sort of a relief to see. "Yes! Meryl, thank you – I really needed someone to talk some sense into me. We have a lot to do!"

Meryl stared back like a toma in headlights. Reaching for his resting bottle, she lifted it to her lips and took a deep swig, for courage.

OOO

Tap, tap, tap, went her pen on the tabletop. She stared over the pile of bursting files at his spiky head. Why wouldn't he say anything?

He flipped past the last few pages and exchanged the folder for another from the pile. Spreading its pages out before him, he rubbed his temples as he scanned the notes and reports.

Meryl tapped her pen harder, hoping to annoy him into looking up, into breaking his trance. She finally slammed it down with her palm and cleared her throat. Still no reaction from him. If Millie were there, instead of running errands for their upcoming quest, she would've broken the silence in her upbeat way by then. On her own, Meryl felt awkward and anxious. Somehow, she just knew that he was angry with her. Which was all well and good, but she'd prefer he just said so.

In the flurry to pack, Meryl had slipped from the apartment briefly to grab some things from the office. She couldn't keep these files secret anymore, but she wished he'd just get over it, and return to hurriedly packing up for the trip. Meryl didn't fare well with awkward silences. Unable to stand it, she slid out her chair and turned to the sink to make coffee. It gave her something to do, but as she worked at it, her mind was still abuzz, with the contents of those reports she'd scoured several times already, with the question of whether or not she should've told him sooner.

Gripping a steaming mug of coffee, she glared at her cabinets and announced, "I was going to bring this to you if anyone died, or got hurt really badly. As I said, though, it's all very tame. Property damage, threats. So you know." She spun and waved a finger in the air authoritatively. "And you can tell a lot of it is total fabrication, anyway."

Vash glanced up, his expression painfully blank. He nodded slightly to acknowledge that, yes, some of it didn't make sense enough to be accurate, and as quickly he bent back over the paperwork.

"I mean, if anything, these reports support Vanessa's plan," Meryl continued. "No violence. People reported, and I quote, 'An attractive blond couple reported to be The Stampede's son and a lover seen entering the inn only hours before leaving.' Him giving people nasty looks, acting strange, but that's no surprise; her holding his hand – and I checked this every time – giving no sign of distress. Well, I'm sure if we can find them, that's what she's going to tell you, that everything's under control, that you have nothing to worry about. Really, I just hope it doesn't tick off your brother, if we show up out of the blue to mess with them. But that's up to you."

Vash didn't say anything, he just kept shuffling through the papers, long after Meryl quit her rambling. Finally, he sat back, looked her in the eye, and summarized, "They're considered a possible threat because he's known to be my son. Your company's had agents sending in reported sightings."

Meryl nodded. "No attempts to contact, just interviews with witnesses."

"There are people asking questions, introducing the idea that I have a kid out there, to go after, to get revenge against me. Revenge for July, for the Fifth Moon incident, for whatever."

She shifted her weight. When he put it that way...

He sighed, staring down at the open pages of the files as he rubbed his neck.

"Vash, there's no bounty anymore," Meryl threw in, "not on you or them. My people have been info-gathering on them for weeks now; there haven't been any reported incidents of...revenge. Listen, I figured it would be best to let people think he was related to you, so I could see reports on their location, their activities. So that I could tell you the moment I heard of a slip. I mean, otherwise, you'd be – _we'd_ be – completely in the dark."

"On the bright side, we have some idea of where they've been, where they may be going next," he admitted, expressionless still, though Meryl thought he seemed a little pale. "Plus these confirm she's still alive. Well...thanks for showing me all of this."

The empty coffee cup clinked down into the sink. She hovered over the kitchen table and gestured at the files. "I've got to get these back to the office before somebody notices they're missing," she pointed out. "Are you through?"

His eyebrows lifted as he breathed in sharply. "We can't keep them?"

"I wasn't supposed to take these files out of the building in the first place, Vash. Don't worry; I have my own notes, on the important stuff," she assured with a wave of her hand. "Dates, locations, important details. The stuff we actually need."

"I'm half through them; I need to _skim_ through the rest, at _least_. I won't be long. We can take these by your office on our way out of town."

She didn't feel that she could say 'no' to that. "Okay. I guess most people have left for the night already."

Vash was back to scanning the pages again, himself unreadable. "Aren't there any photographs in here," he muttered.

"None were deemed necessary," she replied, shrugging. He didn't respond. Meryl sighed and went to the bedroom to pack up her things. If he wanted one last adventure, she'd go with him, she supposed.


	29. Vision

His desert calmed him.

It was hardly hospitable, but this was the natural state of the planet he'd selected, personally. It was chosen that night on the SEEDS ship, when at one year of age he graduated from boy to man, so to speak, and a man of action at that. Proximity, time mattered more than luxury. Most pressing was, as quickly as possible, getting his brother and he away from the human scientists, to get them and the rest of their captive brethren off of those ships, to let the slumbering humans in their cryo-tubes disintegrate in the atmosphere. It was to be the plants' Eden.

Knives sighed. If only his brother weren't so weak of heart, so thoroughly deluded by the woman he called 'mother', Rem, if only Rem hadn't managed to save that small percentage of the passenger ships, he was sure this planet would've already become Eden. 150 years later, it was as much a wasteland as it ever was. So many of his sisters were dead. But he'd still make this an Eden.

He smiled at the horizon, the cleanly barren, sandy hue, the cloudless sky of clearest blue. Call it what you will, it would forever be _his_ planet.

Knives tightened his grip and shifted his weight to his other planted foot. "Are you through?"

Vanessa glared at him and tugged against his grip again. "Let go."

He squinted his clear, blue eyes against the clear, blue sky. "Aren't you accustomed to this by now?"

"I don't _want_ to _hold hands_," she spat in disgust.

"We're hand in hand to keep you safe and near. You won't win this argument. Let's continue on."

Digging her heels into the sand, she leaned away from him and tried to pry his fingers from hers.

Knives tilted his head back to laugh. "To think, two months ago you were whispering sexual favors to me! I've been so patient, so accommodating to your wishes, yet today you're having a child's fit about holding my hand?"

She gripped his forearm and dug her fingernails into his skin. "This is a substitute for a short leash. I offered to be your lover but I _never_ agreed to be your dog."

Before she could flinch, he snatched her hand from his arm and arced her wrist back against her spine, pressing her against his chest. "Dogs go about on all fours without clothing. Would you like to try that, instead?"

"I'd like to try you keeping your hands off me," she growled, trying unsuccessfully to lean away from him.

He pressed his lips together in a sly smile. "Well, _I_ can picture it. You look so much better nude," he mused in a low, sensual tone.

She scoffed, dismissing his antics, though it worried her a bit. "The humans haven't left yet."

"True, but I've ways to amuse myself that don't involve the act of impregnation, technically..." he suggested playfully as he wound his arms round her. "I've ideas of things I'd enjoy without violating our pact; perhaps I should take a break from hand-holding to explore the rest of you."

She forced her palms between their stomachs and pushed to urge him away. "That's not fair."

"That's what I promised. You should have listened more carefully," he murmured, staring down her cleavage. He savored the feel of her against him and didn't bother to hide it. "I've done you the favor of controlling myself, but you take this for granted. I can forget these favors so easily if you're going to be difficult."

That seemed to drain her courage, along with much of the blood from her face. "Is this the kind of man you are? Can you really enjoy yourself when you have me at such a disadvantage, when I'm afraid of you?"

He cupped her face. "Vanessa, you're always afraid of me."

"Not usually this much," she gasped, as he tugged up the side of her skirt.

Letting his breath tickle her neck, he slid her dress up a littler further, until she loosed a plaintive yelp. He let her discomfort linger for a moment more. "Does holding my hand as we walk seem so intrusive, now?" he whispered into her pointed ear. He waited, his breath caressing her neck, and abruptly Knives released her, stepped away, and held out his palm.

Vanessa dropped down onto her heels and cradled her head in her hands. She panted to catch her breath and keep from screaming at him. "I'll name your kids Fork and Spoon," she muttered miserably.

"Adorable," he returned with equaled sarcasm. After a moment's wait, he pulled her hand away from her face and lifted her to her feet. "Let's go."

Defeated, Vanessa began walking to match his pace.

"Knives..."

"What."

"Knives, when we made our agreement, you promised to wait until the humans left, because you're letting them go. Right?"

Frowning, Knives stared forward. "I'll wait until they're gone, as I said."

"Don't be cute with me, dammit, are you letting them go?" she cried out. "Gone, as in, away, and alive! That's the promise _I_ made!"

"Calm yourself. We said exactly what we said and that is what the promise is."

Feeling her skin tingle with the goosebumps of anxiety, she sneered, "You lied to me!"

"I don't lie, Vanessa. Certainly not to you," he replied, seemingly offended by the accusation. "If you were unclear on what we were agreeing to, you really should have gotten clarification before making the oath, shouldn't you?"

She sputtered for a moment before speaking. "Knives, I will never forgive you for this!"

He frowned. "Perhaps not, but that doesn't matter. We're immortal and I have boundless patience, though to be honest you're trying it today."

"You're a monster," she murmured, staring at his fingers twined with hers.

"So I'm told," he muttered through his teeth.

"You shouldn't be allowed everything you want..."

"I doubt I'll ever have what I truly want, don't worry about that." Knives continued to march a few steps ahead. He quickened his pace and began to huff exasperation. Shaking his head, he curled his free hand into a fist and growled an angry cry to the horizon. "But you only worry about yourself, isn't that right? Too much like my brother, too selfish and narrow-sighted. You play games and take beatings while your sisters suffer and die. Save and heal the humans, instead of having the courtesy to stay out of my and nature's way. Call me a monster...I have the burden of righting the wrongs by myself, without either of your assistance.

"We have to repopulate our species; for shame I should enjoy it, hmm?" He stopped abruptly and gestured at her, up and down. "Knives has no right to _enjoy_ something? I have only duty? No, I want _something_ for myself. I want you. This is all I ask for.

"But what do you care. You've no reverence even for the importance of your existence. You scowl at the honor of bringing angels into the world, the miracle of receiving my seed. And your gate? You had it carved from you – did you pay to have it done? Such ignorance!

"Ignorance you cannot be blamed for, yet you _did_ let the gift of your gate go to naught. You should have utilized your skills to help me annihilate them. You could have worked such efficient justice on them. Instead, you used it on me. On me! To make me – of all things – to make me cry like my brother? On his shoulder? To humiliate me in that way? Do you have an inkling what a waste of your talent, of your power it all was?

"Do you have a clue as to the slavery persisting around you? Have you seen, felt, smelled, heard the death of a bulbed plant as humans suck the last drops of 'usefulness' from them? Will you champion those who have no voice, no weapon, no sentience to protect their innocent lives from the vermin who bleed the essence from them? Will you listen to me? No, that would be asking too much, when you've the sugar-sweet nonsense he's fed you fresh on your tongue. To you, mothering sentients is a burden. So, I'll ask nothing more from you than that. But you'll be rewarded nonetheless; you will have the pleasure of being mate to the one who will free our sisters, exterminate our oppressors. You may never thank me, but one day you will come to the clarity I've had for a century and a half. One day, you will taste freedom and be grateful to be my mate." His thumb rubbed circles across the back of her hand while he spoke, as his thoughts to the future widened his eyes with pride. Meeting her gaze, he was unsure if she looked to be frightened or awe-stricken. Perhaps both. He took a moment to catch his breath, having gotten quite caught up in his enthusiasm. "I've more concern for your well-being than you have for yourself; you should trust me."

Vanessa moved her mouth to speak a few times before making clear enough words. "Do you know how egotistic, how megalomaniacal that sounds?"

Tilting his head to the side slightly, he frowned. "Of course I do. I'm sure this strikes you as delusional. You hate me; you think I'm insane. What can I do to change that, but to allow you the autonomy to enlighten yourself in time?"

"Autonomy?" she spat. "You've taken everything from me! The last vestige of my individuality, this agreement of ours, _stupid me_, I've only now realized it was an illusion. You wouldn't let me keep the _illusion_!"

"Our contract stands," he insisted. "You don't understand. It's not something I agreed to easily. You have control over our reproduction. I will not impregnate you by force; only when you willingly submit to it. That is a great sacrifice for me. And once the planet is razed and safe for you, I will give you a great deal of space and time, a great deal of patience and freedom. I plan to suffer for you, more than you appreciate, because I respect your sentience, your perfection. Even if you do not." Knives looked away as his eyes welled up with tears, and cleared his throat. He began to walk again, drawing her behind him by the hand.

"Wow." Her shuffling feet kicked up the sand in puffs. She bit her fingertips as she laughed bitterly at herself. "I thought I bought their survival for an immortal lifetime of obedience. Guess I overestimated my value," she mumbled past her fingers before the nervous laugh continued.

"You've far from overestimated it. The trouble is, you've spent so long among the parasites, assuming yourself on their level. You're still dangerously underestimating the danger they pose to us. I care for you too much to let them free to leave and come back with things far worse than six-shooters."

"You think the ships are going to be armed with six-shooters?" Again, she chortled past her fingers. "You think they have any reason to come back to this worthless rock? You _are_ insane."

He frowned at her low opinion of his choice of a world. "This 'rock' is in the 99.9th percentile of habitation, not as 'worthless' as you might think. There is a chance humans will return to claim it for some selfish reason or another. I see their innate parasitic nature and will cancel out that possibility. If your presence has taught me anything, it's that my hesitation, my inaction from Bering to March was a grave mistake."

"Then why are you dragging me around the world, when you could be riding in on a white horse to save your sisters?"

"Acting directly would put you in danger. More of them die, but you're safe, and that to me is the correct decision."

"I'm not safe."

"Vanessa, that's not true," he argued gently.

"Ha. When I still could, I should've killed you." She spoke in a whisper, teeth firmly gripping her first two fingertips, but loud enough to be heard.

Knives coughed a short, bitter laugh. He turned his face away to hide the streak of wet running down his cheek.


	30. The Search Continues

Millie glanced over her shoulder at Eric, or so Vash was calling himself, hiding behind a clipboard, yellow specs, and a messy hairdo. It wasn't much of a disguise but it'd served him alright so far.

She turned back to the interviewee, catching the last of her partner's introduction. Meryl took a deep breath in and added,"so you see, sir, we need to know if there's anything you recall that you may not have mentioned to the previous agents."

Nodding seriously, Millie noted that Meryl hid very well her frustration, her exhaustion from their weeks of driving and searching for clues. Vash hadn't given up, so neither had Meryl, so neither would she. "Anything you remember would be extremely helpful!" she chimed in with a grin.

"Well," Mr. Polinski began, tracing his mustache with his fingers as he studied these three Bernardelli Insurance agents, "after they told me who that guy was, it got me thinking. First off, I'm damn lucky to be alive. Second, I'm a damn fool for not figuring that out and shooting the bastard myself. Third, you know, I ain't so sure your people had their story right."

He waited to be sure he had their attention. "They was all asking what he was packing, and you know, I said he ain't packing nothing I could see. But that don't mean a thing. Sometimes the ones you gotta watch for are the ones you don't think you gotta."

"That sometimes is true, sir," Meryl agreed, shifting her weight. "Now, you reported you hadn't overheard their talking?"

"He talked by _staring_ at you." The man snorted. "_She_ weren't there for _talking_."

Clearing her throat, Meryl went on quickly. "They came into this town, apparently as travelers, restocking supplies?"

Mr. Polinski crossed his meaty arms and stared at the little woman down his nose. "Came from the sands, left to the sands, without a ride or anything. Sure, I heard they got supplies, what they could carry. That, and, well..."

Millie beamed. "Sir, anything you remember would be-"

"Some things I ain't about to talk about with ladies present," he interrupted.

"Will you tell our associate here, then?" Meryl asked, exasperated that something was missed before. She stepped a few paces away with her partner, watching from the corner of her eye as Eric approached the gruff man to lean in and listen.

Eric peered over his glasses.

"Ok, so the thing is," the man started, pawing his mustache again, "the thing is, the girl Vash Junior came in with, her cloak was kinda waving open. It was windy. Looked like, you know, a woman of the night."

"Some of the other witnesses reported that," Vash muttered impatiently, leaving out the fact that witnesses of other sightings in other towns had gotten that impression as well. "I – we don't believe she is."

"Yeah, exactly. I seen those two close up enough. I got good eyes. You read that report I gave. If I had the gift I'd draw you photos of 'em. I thought on the way they looked, and I thought on their afternoon stay in the hotel, if you follow me. I heard the Warrens' boy talking about what he saw, you know he peeped on them in there, but I don't suppose he told your agents that, now." Mr. Polinski guffawed at that.

"Hmm."

"That boy won't tell your people anything, he got whooped good for bragging on that. What I heard tell, kid didn't get the best view or nothing. But he watched the girl taking a bath, and he said Vash Junior was sitting there by the tub, watching her, too." He poked Eric in the arm in amusement. "Said he'd be dreaming on that girl's body rest of his life."

"Hmm."

"Not meaty enough for my tastes, but it takes all kinds.

"Lot of people round here were in a fuss about those two, weeks after. Plenty of folks have affairs and such, you know, but there they were, in the day, clear as could be what they were doing in that hotel. Really tugged folks' sense of morals around here. But, now this is the real important thing. You write this down. I don't think folks got a clue how much a sin those pretty kids did in that hotel. See, way I figure it, this guy's that demon's son. I seen the posters my whole life just about, you know. Looks just like his damn daddy. Yeah, that they got right. But if The Stampede had this secret son of his running about and we only just got to noticing, well, what's to say he didn't have more than that, the devil? Proves how evil their daddy is, those kids was brother and sister. Same height, color of their hair; looked just like kin. Ain't that sick? That girl's worse than some common whore, to lay with her own broth-"

"Okay," Eric snapped. He turned and marched off past the girls, out toward their jeep.

Mr. Polinski took long strides after him. "You all are bound to get a bounty posted sooner or later, and just as well. Wish I could strangle 'em myself. On those posters, I want the credit, for my discoverin' this. Other folks'll tell you the same thing, but I'm the first to figure who that slut-"

Eric spun and cracked Horace's nose with his fist. Mr. Polinski staggered back, clutching his gushing nose. He growled as he threw himself forward, at the lanky insurance agent, punching him in the cheek and kneeing him in the chest as he fell to his knees.

Meryl stood in Horace's way while her partner tugged 'Eric' the remaining yards to the jeep. "Thank you for the information, sir, we'll be on our way!" she announced, holding her hands out to discourage him doing further. She backed up quickly.

Horace spat bloody saliva into the sand and glared at her, one eye puffy already. "Crazy bastard!"

OOO

"For crying out loud, _everybody's_ calling your brother Vash Junior-"

"He said they were _both_ my kids, and they were...familiar, and I-"

"So you sucker punch the guy?" Meryl pounded her fist against the wheel. "It doesn't matter what some bumpkin thinks! I mean, I'm irritable, too, given we haven't gotten any closer to finding them lately. We can't lose tempers on the people we might get a new lead from!"

Vash turned to her, narrowing his eyes, one of which was marred by the big red blotch of a broken blood vessel and surrounded by purpling skin. "That man wasn't helpful. He was disgusting, saying those things about her..."

"_We_ know they're not...doing...incest...or whatever, so just let that go!" Meryl let her boot off the gas pedal a little and gripped the steering wheel harder. "They checked into a hotel for a few hours, Vash; are you surprised people assume things?"

"She didn't-" He stopped, and turned back to staring into the wasteland.

"Didn't what? Think about what we're expecting to find out. It's like you're disappointed to hear people call them lovers, like that's the worst that could happen? Isn't that good news, for crying out loud? Our freshest solid lead only has that to report so you need to be realistic. For all you know, she's having a grand old time with your jerk of a brother."

"Really, Meryl!" he yelled over the hum of the engine, pushing his palms against the dashboard. "I can't listen to this!"

Meryl's face grew hot and she matched his volume angrily. "I think we ought to go back; I don't think this is such a good idea! If we _do_ find those two, Vash, I don't think you're yourself and I think you're going to do something stupid and get yourself hurt for no good reason!"

"I don't know, I think wanting to check in on somebody you care about's a good reason," Millie called from the back seat, unable to keep herself from the conversation. "Mr. Vash, Meryl's right though, you ought to keep your cool even if you hear something about Miss Vanessa that isn't very nice. Letting it go doesn't mean you don't care about her!"

Vash bowed his head and slumped back a little.

"Tch. You don't know her that well, Vash," Meryl continued. "You knew her for a few weeks! You're wasting your time, defending a stranger's honor."

"She's not a stranger. Not to me."

"What _is_ she, to you, Mr. Vash?" Millie asked sweetly, gripping the edge of his seat to lean forward. "I don't think you were real clear on that."

He pressed his fingers into his temples for a moment. "I'm not sure."

"But you really like her, don't you Mr. Vash," Millie cooed supportively, rubbing her friend's shoulder.

"Millie!" Meryl barked.

"Now, I think I know a thing or two about this! Just because you don't have a lot of time with somebody doesn't mean you didn't..." It was Millie's turn to flush red with emotion.

Vash cupped his hand over Millie's and squeezed. He understood.

After a moment of reflection and engine hum, Meryl muttered, "You two make it sound like..." Her knuckles went white as she gripped at the wheel as hard as she could. In lieu of whacking him about the head for his naiveté, his stupidity, his lack of quality judgment, she wanted to scream.

OOO

Knives' eyes flew open. He heard himself gasp, the bloodlust coursing through him, bringing its familiar ecstasy. But he hadn't called it out. It wasn't right. Not with Vanessa near.

His gate altered instantaneously with his will, losing its intensely pleasurable feeling. It was still open, but he was innately aware that the blades were no longer there. Gritting his teeth, he forced it closed, and everything went back to normal. He lay there, under blankets, and gazed up at a few of the moons. Since it was nearly morning, the sky was a wash of purple tinged in red.

What had happened? The whole thing only lasted a fraction of a second, he supposed, but it shouldn't have happened at all.

Rolling his head to the side, he saw what put the pressure on his gate arm. Vanessa was lying on it, on her back with her face turned away. He felt her hand warm against the back of his, felt her face warm against his palm, felt the sudden chill of a slight gust of wind. Was his hand...wet? Wet with what – tears? For all her dramatics, Vanessa never cried.

He realized he was holding his breath. His lungs forced a sharp breath in, and he began to breathe too quickly in tandem with a heartbeat too quick. What happened?

She wasn't resting her head on his arm as usual. With his elbow near the center of her back, he felt his circulation cut off a little. That might explain the feeling of his gate opening – but it felt far too real to be an illusion. What if...

Pulling his arm out from under her slowly, carefully; he hoped not to disturb her before morning. Finally free, his fingers tingled. He hadn't woken her; she lay still as death, hair rustling slightly as another gust of wind came past. Again, his skin felt wet, and cold. Could the morning sky make his arm look so red?

No, it couldn't. His arm was wet with blood. Not his own. He lost touch with reality for an indeterminate amount of time once it hit him – he had carved into Vanessa.


	31. Slow Healer

Knives' breathing and pulse raced faster, but eventually he snapped back to reality. He leaned over her still form and saw her hand cupped near her face, awash in red. Swallowing back fear, he threw off the blankets, and as gently as possible he rolled her onto her back. Her face still turned away from him, the bright red evidence seemingly isolated to her hand. However, the wet, warm blood up his arm indicated other wounds, hidden under her. And, he reminded himself, she hadn't fared well with blood loss before.

He pressed his first two fingers against the side of her neck just under her jawline, as Vash had done. Trying to listen for a pulse, he only felt and heard his own panting breaths, his own throbbing heart. Over his pounding heartbeats, he couldn't tell what hers was doing. Perhaps nothing at all.

If Vash could save her, so could he. Knives knelt and stacked his palms between her breasts. He would press onto her chest ten times in a row, as his brother had done before. Pressing his lips together, he pushed against her chest for the first.

She shrieked.

Knives' hands jerked away, fearing to make her scream again. He held his breath as she gasped in air.

At least she wasn't dead.

Her head lolled toward him. Hair matted wet against her cheek and forehead, hiding much of her face. Blood oozed on her skin and rolled in a trail along her clean cheek like a red tear.

"Vanessa. I've cut you," he murmured, voice weak and distant. He waited what seemed an eternity for a response, but received none. As he waited, he let his hand hover above her mouth, feeling her regular, warm breaths out. "How badly are you hurt?"

What if one of his blades had pierced her skull? If it cut into her brain? She could be alive but only that. Let it not be the case, he begged in thought. Let it not be that!

He could stand it no longer, and he scooted around to raise her from the ground. Lifting her by the torso, he helped her into a seated position.

She leaned over her knees, stiffly, but it proved she was conscious, at least. Her breathing became as loud as his, a hissing sound from between gritted teeth. The fingers of her clean hand gripped the blanket beneath her. "Ungh," she moaned softly.

"I didn't mean to. It wasn't on purpose. I don't know what happened, and I...I didn't..." Be calm, Knives, he told himself, as he pressed their blanket into the blood on her glistening back and shoulder. "Can you hear me?" he asked again, slowly and clearly.

"Uh, huh," she croaked.

Knives laughed aloud in relief. He turned away to find their water, his spare clothing. He found he wanted nothing more than to wipe away the blood. "Where is your kit? I'll stitch up the incisions for you. I don't know what happened. But it's over. You'll be fine. I don't think you're hurt badly. You'll heal well," he rambled, mostly to himself. "I'll start closing the cuts here on your shoulder and work my way up; by the time I'm to your cheek I'll be practiced. There probably won't even be scars."

She put her clean palm out; after a moment, he understood and handed her a cloth. Gasping, she wound it around her bleeding hand. Her head bowed to let her dirty hair obscure her face and to let him have a clear view of the gashes on her shoulder blade.

While it was a horrible thing to hear her gasp and see her stiffen in pain, he was glad she was alive, and awake, and that there was but a fraction the amount of blood she shed the day he showed her her weapon. She would be fine, and he would help her heal. Somehow, he'd made a mistake, but it hadn't killed her. He'd have to worry about how it happened later, and concentrate on cleaning, then on stitching. He would make everything alright for her. For them both.

He found her worn, leather medical bag without her direction, and decided not to bother cleaning away all of the blood before stitching. Settling cross-legged behind her, he used her fine pliers to grasp an end of stitching wire and he proudly assured her, "My blades cut so cleanly, the tissue damage is negligible," as he pressed fingertips to the side of the longest wound. "You should know how fortunate you are; if the cuts were even an inch deeper, you'd surely be dead."

Knives froze, staring at the wire hovering over her injury. His gaze lay on the lowest cut, the rising in a northwest diagonal from her upper spine, pointing up at her shoulder and down into the irregular scar where her hump i.e. her intact gate used to be housed. The pattern of the cuts struck him, their location, how she'd been laying on his arm strangely when he woke. Their recent arguments replayed in his mind, her distant attitude. It was as though she'd purposefully put his gate against hers. As though she'd meant this to happen.

"You did this on purpose," he whispered. "Answer me, you caused this, didn't you!"

The back of her head remained still. "Uh, huh."

He felt himself trembling, hurt, anger or something worse rising from within. "You'd kill yourself," he growled, "to avoid living...at my side?" The wire in the pliers shook.

Her free hand searched for the thread spool, and her fingertips traced the delicate edges of the metal thread. She pointed at the spool, then traced the path from her shoulder to her neck to her face. "As you said, you need to sew me up. Please do," she insisted through gritted teeth.

Knives set his jaw as well. He had nothing to say. There was nothing to say, or do, but stitch. His chest felt empty, his stomach cold, but he had to close up the wounds no matter how outraged he felt.

Biting his tongue, he tried to steady his trembling hands. It was no use. He let his hands fall to his lap and release the wire. "I need a moment," he muttered.

"Hospital."

He looked up to see her slowly, carefully pivoting herself around to face him. Vanessa did everything she could to not twist her torso, just to swivel her legs around. Her left arm kept stiff and awkward against her chest like a bird's broken wing.

"The hospital. In May," she added, waving her palm in a circle over her face. "Take me there."

"I simply need time to calm down. When my hands are steady again I can stitch you-"

"My eyes," she interrupted, lifting her bloodied hair away from her face in pieces to reveal the worst of the problem. Her eyes were cut.

Knives had to look away. Before he could speak, he paused to force the bile rising in his throat to reverse its course. "How could you," he muttered miserably.

"I need to go to the hospital. In May," she repeated with authority.

Grinding his teeth together, he dug out some gauze wrappings from her bag and hastily hid her wounds from sight. His hands shook fiercely as they worked, as they attempted to hide away the truth of it, as the blood seeped partway through to remind him.

OOO

Knives licked his dry lips between ragged breaths as he stepped up to what appeared to be the hospital's main reception desk. He tossed his head sharply to get his traveling cloak hood off his head, and prepared to say what she'd told him he ought to say, to give the sort of facial expression she said would be best. The dead weight of their supplies on his back, of her wrapped in her cloak in his arms; the pressure of it had him near exhaustion. Nevertheless, he'd gotten her to the help she needed, so he had the energy to hold his head high.

"She needs medical attention," he announced to the receptionist, a small human female of middle age and dark complexion. "My companion has multiple lacerations across the back, neck, and..." Pausing, he gritted his teeth; the woman wasn't listening. He kicked her desk hard enough to splinter it.

The nurse receptionist startled and clasped her clipboard to her chest, eyes wide and dedicatedly fixed on Knives'. "Sir?" she squeaked.

"My companion has multiple lacerations across the-"

"Jim! Jim, get Doctor Diego to exam room 11, we have a critical case, here!" she yelled over her shoulder, as she darted over to Knives from round her desk.

He swung Vanessa's form away from the nurse on instinct, but reluctantly swiveled back. Wordlessly, helplessly, he let the nurse pull Vanessa's cloak moreso away from her head to her shoulder. When the bandages were lifted away to survey the damage, Knives winced and closed his eyes.

"Bring her – follow me, sir, this way!"

Knives followed the small human down a white, antiseptic-scented hall lined with doors.

At the end of the hall, she shoved open the door and pointed to a metal gurney furnished only with white sheets. "Here, lay her here; careful now!"

He didn't bother to snap at her haughty comment, that he wouldn't know to take care when doing so. Obeying her instruction, he lay Vanessa on her right side, the side uninjured, the side he'd pressed against his chest when carrying her through the desert to May. She seemed awake but remained still and silent, stunned by the pain.

Allowing himself to be shoved out of the way, Knives stepped away as the nurse addressed earlier as 'Jim' ran in as well, calling out, "Doctor's on his way; Zoe, have you taken vitals?"

"Haven't had the chance," the small human replied as she cut away the cloak and bandages with great efficiency.

Things became a blur for Knives. He felt a seat behind him, and let their packs fall from his shoulders onto the floor against the wall. His weight met the slightly padded chair and he heard only some of the muttered announcements of the humans bustling around his fellow plant angel. A man he assumed to be the doctor rushed in and the two nurses appraised the situation, pointing and gesturing. He spoke and they began hurriedly rinsing at the wounds, gathering supplies from an attached closet, as the man himself snapped on gloves and inspected her shoulder.

Knives tipped his head back against the cool wall and closed his eyes. He breathed a sigh of slight relief, but in truth he still felt a horrible chill, an intense anxiety and emptiness. Concentrate on her recovery, he told himself, only think of this.

The sudden noise of an electric drill snapped him from his meditation, and he found himself on his feet.

Doctor Diego stared at Knives over the edge of his cloth mask, drill hovering quiet in the air above Vanessa.

"What are you-"

"Sir, please sit, or you'll need to leave." Zoe commanded with a gentle, assuring tone. "We've got to work quickly for your friend, here." The drilling sound began again as the doctor leaned over Vanessa, obscuring Knives' view.

OOO

Vanessa heard a sort of reverse-scream suck into her throat. Her cut fingers grasped at the edge of the bed, the hand's pain duller than the drilling into her shoulder. She felt herself pressed by hands against this bed. She knew that, in a hospital, a drill was used primarily to screw in implements, usually metal, as support for bones. Using her medical analysis to keep from screaming out, she gritted her teeth and decided her shoulder blade must have been cut near in two to require a metal plate secured with five screws. Each screw was a memory she'd never lose.

The heavy sound of the discarded power tool let her relax a little. Her headache, the ache and throb of her wounds – it was almost unbearable. The hands let her go, let her nestle herself against the bed as small twangs of pain over the shoulder blade indicated stitching. At least they were getting somewhere.

"Zoe, we'll resume in a few hours," the doctor's voice muttered as he worked behind her. "Let's give her some sedatives, antibiotics. I'll have Dr. Oreander in from his holiday as soon as he can; incisions to the eyes like this...we'll need his expertise. Get the areas cleaned up better, some fresh wrappings for now." His footsteps hurried off to the next waiting patient.

"So, what's your name, hon?" Zoe asked as she blotted at a cheek gash.

OOO

Jim focused on the blond man. Pressing down on the woman with all his strength to keep her from struggling while the doctor drilled, he watched the man from the corner of his eye. The injuries on this girl were rather incredible, but the man sitting over there was much more so.

Once Zoe was left to clean her, Jim stepped into the closet to get the medicine prescribed.

"She's asking for pill form," Zoe called out. He selected just that, and set them on a small side table, near a pitcher of water and cup.

Jim's curiosity could no longer be contained. He lowered the cloth mask from his nose and mouth, stepped over to the man, and feigned a cough.

The blond man's head snapped up and his cool, blue eyes appraised him with something approaching disgust.

"I know what you are," he murmured.

The man scoffed. "Do you."

Jim thumbed over his shoulder. "Did he do that to her?"

"Who," Knives grunted in spite of himself.

"Vash the Stampede," Jim whispered, as though that devil himself may appear if he spoke the name too loudly.

Staring down at Jim's hands, stained in places with her blood, Knives offered no reply.

Jim crossed his arms. "You're not welcome here," he continued, voice low.

The man glowered, and Jim felt a chill.

"Fine. Suit yourself." Jim backed away and hurried from the room.

Knives put his weight on his elbows, on his knees, and picked at his nails. They'd only just gotten there, and already a human targeted them for some ill will. Now would be a good time to leave, he felt, but he could hardly move her yet, and he couldn't bear to desert her. He couldn't look at her, but he couldn't leave her alone.

Vanessa had insisted, over and over, as he supported and then carried her across the sand, that hospitals were generally safe. Indeed, the humans hadn't made a fuss about her strange, pointed ears yet, and they were as exposed as her lacerations. They would help her, and the moment they were through he would whisk her to better safety. Unfortunately, she healed slowly, and he couldn't know how early he could chance their departure. Once the stitches were in place? After they were removed? When her vision restored to normal?

He tugged away a dry sliver of his cuticle and grimaced. It could be a long time.


	32. Floundering

Vanessa strained for some clear, descriptive sounds to help her in this pitch black existence. When she finally decided to move, it was to delicately raise her bandages up and behind her ears. This was done very, very carefully, but once complete gave her a better 'picture' of her surroundings.

She assumed the room was not actually black as night. The warmth of the room was her hint at time of day, that it was day at all. Flexing her muscles only slightly gave her the reminder of where her injuries lay. They felt still unsewn, besides her shoulder.

For a moment of indeterminate time, she cleared her thoughts and simply listened. She took in every delicate and pronounced sound, to glean her location, the nearest people, and so forth. There were the telltale murmurs of hospital staff, the sharp pleas of the pained and the family of the pained, and metallic clangs here and there. She seemed to be the only patient in this small room, probably at the end of a hallway. Barely audible were soft, deep breaths, some punctuated by a slight whistle – he'd breathed those sounds into her ear for weeks. Knives must be asleep in the room.

Vanessa let her fingers uncurl around the pills. These were flat discs, with familiar grooves in one side. Oxycodone, and a significant dose at that. In 6 hours or so, she was sure they'd offer her two more. She tucked the little discs under her neckline between her breasts. They wouldn't help her pain, sitting there, but that wasn't why she wanted them.

She took a deep, calming breath that was made terribly painful by her injuries. The next were shallow and delicate, as she began to think over what she'd stolen.

When she'd first woken, there were memories, but like a dream after waking, they were too ill-defined to grasp. The pain was too intense. She panicked, thought for a moment she'd been attacked, that he'd killed her. Only the fear in his voice pulled her from her stupor enough to fathom her situation, the situation she'd put herself in.

If sitting with the cuts was painful, walking and finally being carried with them was excruciating. Vanessa clawed at Knives' memories during the journey, begged them to clear up. They could at least be a distraction from her injuries. Instead, they blended with the pain into confusion. She recalled the mental scarring of Rem's Tessla confession, the pain of the bullet Vash tore through her shoulder, the horror of having her body ripped apart by her brother. Those things hadn't happened to her, but she couldn't make the separation through the shock. One of his jarring footfalls sent a bolt of memory through her mind of the anger she channeled through hired thugs. The next footfall brought a spike of fear, fear of what the humans would do to her species if they landed safely somewhere. By the time they reached the hospital she was drowning in the flotsam of his memories.

The first support screw helped. Not just to hold her bone together, but to give her a step back from the confusion. Finally, her mind stopped being crushed, tumbled along the murky rush of Knives' past, she felt the pressure of something more familiar - the exposed, aching need and love and guilt of Vash's past that she'd carried for months. The second screw's whine reminded her who she was, what she was doing, and she counted the remainder of those screws to keep from passing out. She needed to stay conscious, to plan, to plot against the captor she'd gained so much contempt and so much sympathy for.

It made more sense to move back into his past than to catalog from the beginning. The present was the more familiar place to start. As she backstepped through their days, she braced herself against the rush of his anger and fear and lust. All of it was important, any of it potentially key information, so she could not ignore it. She could only endure it – again.

Knives breathed in deeply, over her shoulder, in their hotel room the day he 'liberated' her from Vash. He'd smelled the distinct scent of her sweat, and also the tang of his brother's scent. This detail he added to the jolt of awareness that'd snapped him from unconsciousness, that told him something significant had happened involving his kind. The jolt gave him pause, but the smell sealed it. There could be no doubt of their betrayal. The crushing wake of hurt hit Knives like a tidal wave. It was all he could do to contain his rage until reaching the town he slaughtered.

Vanessa shuddered in the bed, individual cuts crying out with stabbing pain from the motion. She dove back down, down into the past, studying for hours and hours until the satisfaction of what she'd stolen stilled into the cold realization of how badly things could turn out if Knives got his way.

While the patient rummaged through stolen history, the nurse stood in the lobby of the local fed station. Jim pressed his fingers into his lip and held his breath. He stared at a poster sketch on the corkboard of private requests. Private revenge, more like it. The feds didn't officially sanction this sort of thing, but so long as people kept the violent connotations off the paper, they let anybody put up anything they wanted here. Any doubt he'd had disappeared. It all made sense – perfect sense. The description was spot-on.

Jim knew this wouldn't get his granny back. This wouldn't bring her or the other twelve members of his family back from the dead. This wouldn't let him get those years back, with the people whose faces he barely remembered.

This wouldn't bring back July.

These faces, he thought to himself as he stared at the poster, these faces he remembered. Turning his gaze to the floor, he shuffled toward the receptionist, to make the report he came to do.

This wouldn't change the past, he knew that, but Jim decided he wanted to be a part of the future.

OOO

Vash seemed to be ignoring the question in favor of studying his glass of water, face hidden partially by his yellow specs and unruly hair. He peered over his lenses, one eye punctuated by a broken blood vessel. Finally, he cleared his throat to reply. "No, I understand. You've wasted enough of your time, and energy...and money...on my wild toma-chase."

"Not to mention PTO," Meryl added with a flip of her hand. "But I digress. I have no qualms letting you stay with us again, mopey though you're bound to be."

Millie shifted uncomfortably in her seat at the sticky table in this rickety bar, and almost winced when she saw Vash's subtle frown. She caught the glance of the bartender, who quickly resumed cleaning glasses with a rag and pretending not to listen, while Millie herself turned back to quietly letting the conversation unfold.

"I will, of course, continue my info-gathering from headquarters," the senior insurance girl continued. "There's more reason than ever to believe nothing'll turn up, and I, for one, am relieved as could be at that."

"You girls are the best friends a loser like me could ask for," he offered with a smile. "Really, I'm lucky. I'll feel better knowing you're safe in December till the ships come, anyways."

"And I'll feel better being able to keep an eye or two on you, till the ships come," Meryl snapped forcefully.

"Do you think the jeep can get you girls back to the city without a tune-up?" he wondered aloud.

"Get _us_ back, you mean," Meryl corrected, cheeks reddening. "It's as worn out as we are; I'd just as soon not risk it and ferry it back on a steamer instead."

Vash grinned and rubbed the back of his head. "That's a very sound plan, Meryl. It's why I don't worry about you girls being on your own."

"And why you ought to stay with us!" she snapped too loud. She rubbed the side of her head, embarrassed by the attention her outburst garnered. "You're fresh out of decent plans, if you had one to start with."

"True enough." He took a deep gulp of his lukewarm water and smacked his lips.

"I know you're thinking that _feeling_ you got this morning will be _the one,_" she continued, "That this time that twinge or whatever that you got's going to lead you right to them, just like you thought about the last twenty-plus times you got the exact same twinge. The twinge you know is just him doing some stupid knife-trick, like we found evidence of the whole way. The twinge you can't even tell the direction of."

"West."

"You _think_ west. Not that it matters because you're headed southeast; southeast with us. To December. Where we belong; where you belong."

He twirled his cup along the sticky tabletop. "Maybe I'll see you in December. But not till after I have 'my conversation.'"

"Did it ever cross your mind that she may not have a damn thing to say to you," Meryl muttered, pressing her fingers into the sides of her own cup.

"Maybe not."

The three sat in silence until Meryl growled and slid from her chair to storm out of the bar.

Millie sighed as she watched the door swing slowly shut after her partner. "She's only saying it because she's worried about you."

Vash smirked. "That's kind of her."

"No, really, Mr. Vash. You don't know how much she worries about you. If you pardon my saying so, you're a mess. More than we've seen you in a long while, and we've seen you through some really rough patches, you recall."

"I do."

"Well, I worry about you, too, because there's plenty to worry about. We want to see you on the ships with us, safe and sound. We want what's best for you. The way this has gone, well, I know it must hurt terribly, but you should probably learn to accept that whatever you and Miss Vanessa had is over and done. I just don't think torturing yourself like this is what's best for you, whether you think so or not." Millie furrowed her brow as her tone grew more and more authoritative, a surprisingly natural, if rare, tone for her. "So, we're going to leave in the morning, straight for the nearest city with a sand steamer port. I don't think we have to tell you this again, but you really ought to come with us. You really shouldn't be alone. After all, if we keep our ear to the ground we may find something out one day, anyway."

Again, Vash smirked. "Thank you, Millie."

Millie uncrossed her arms and stood, staring him down. Her heart hurt from caring about him, and she knew her partner out pitching the tent must hurt worse for it. "You're welcome Mr. Vash. Goodnight."


	33. Revenge a Long Time Coming

Once the warmth of the sun faded and it felt like night, she accepted two more oxycodone pills from a nurse who did not introduce herself. Vanessa used slight-of-hand to pretend to take them with water. As footsteps plodded away, she tucked them into her neckline with the others. A soft sigh escaped her as she lay her head down and dove back into the memories.

Heavy bootfalls followed, startling Vanessa from her thoughts.

"Get your hand off me, sir."

Knives dropped his arm back to his side and wiped his palm against his pants. He noted the human rubbed the upper arm he'd grabbed her by. Given the situation, he reminded himself to behave less aggressively. He cleared his throat and glared down at the woman. "We were told her treatment would continue 'in a few hours.' It has been much longer."

"Well, who's her doctor," the nurse replied, glaring back.

Knives fixed his gaze and pressed his lips together.

She sighed, and moved purposefully past him back into Vanessa's room. After a moment's look at the clipboard chart at the foot of the bed, the nurse hung it back and put her hand on her hip. "Doctor Diego's been held up with a trauma case. I think he's napping between sessions of surgery, so it'll be a few hours still."

He blocked her attempt to walk back out. "_This_ is a trauma case."

"_This_ isn't life-or-death, _sir_." She skirted him and tromped away.

"I demand we wait no longer," Knives announced. "Come back here with your doctor, and close her wounds."

The young nurse kept walking away from him.

"If you knew who I was you would obey me!" he shouted.

Vanessa held her breath. Even if he'd told them his name, it's not like they would care. Whoever heard of Millions Knives, anyway?

Turning fast enough to cause her cropped hair to spiral wildly about her head, the woman snarled back, "I _certainly_ doubt that. The patients are settling in for the night, so keep your _voice down_. Else I may have you escorted out."

Frowning, Knives knew through his anger that he couldn't afford violence. Not with Vanessa carved up in that bed. Admitting defeat for the moment, he pushed closed the door before turning back to his seat against the wall. His footsteps indicated a pause, and after a beat he stepped more softly toward her bed. A soft metal sound indicated his hands gripping the metal edge of the gurney. "Are you awake?"

She laid still and did not respond.

Knives kept his eyes to the floor and shuffled back to his seat, where he emptied a canteen and sat quietly until Vanessa lost herself in his and her thoughts deeply enough not to notice his sounds anymore.

OOO

Vash woke to the soft flapping sounds of the ladies' tent beside the jeep. He uncrossed his arms, stretched, and crawled from the backseat to drop into the sand.

Meryl glanced over her shoulder at him and turned back to staring into the wasteland. She sat just outside the tent, and apparently hadn't slept much longer or deeper than he had.

His duffel settled heavily across his back. Stopping just beside where Meryl sat, he waited for her to say something. He finally caved. "In case we don't meet up after this, stay safe, and be happy."

She scoffed. "Millie will be mad; you didn't wait to say goodbye to her, too."

"Yeah, but if I did, she'd deck me."

"Well." Meryl figured she was the one to punch him, usually, but didn't argue the point.

After a pause, Vash began walking west.

OOO

Vash had plenty of reasons to avoid stopping in Devil's Den late that morning – not least of which because Devil's Den was a town populated mainly by bounty hunters. The place would be crawling with people who'd devoted much of their lives trying to find him, so it would be a poor choice to go walking right in, hoping glasses and a different hairstyle would save him from recognition.

However, it also was a poor choice to go journeying in the wasteland without water, and Vash had forgotten to grab any from the jeep in his haste to leave.

As he walked toward town, he wrapped a rag about his head and tugged his traveling cloak closed. He found a small tin of black shoe polish in a pocket of the duffel and hastily wiped a few lines across his eyes. It would do, to help him blend in long enough to buy a water bladder.

He was nearly to the edge of town when a slew of vehicles blazed toward him, some with mounted guns, and most accompanied by whooping war cries. Instinctively, he drew his colt up and set it beside his chin. There was nowhere to run, nothing for miles to provide cover, so he may as well fight this one out.

This wouldn't be his greatest battle – judging from the number of vehicles and their speed, he guessed they weren't planning ahead or using any kind of strategy against him. It made his heart race, though; it'd been so long since he'd been in a firefight. He set his jaw as they closed the last hundred yards...

...And drove right past.

"The hell..." Vash asked aloud, swiveling to watch the first few speed away.

More engines roared toward him than roared away. Shouts included mention of "Devil of July" and "Stampede" but still they sped past, as though he were invisible.

His shoulders slumped. He relaxed his arm and let the weight of the colt rest against his thigh.

A racing truck nearly slammed into him, but he rolled out of the way just in time, landing very indignantly with a leg in the air and a mouth full of sand.

"Yo, you okay?"

Vash rolled onto his rear and spat. "Yep."

The bald man sneered and leaned further out his car window to give the finger to the truck. "Asshole making us bounty hunters look bad; we ain't supposed to be the criminals, after all. Well, good thing he missed you."

It was more that Vash'd missed the truck than vice versa, but Vash kept that to himself. "Appreciate your concern." He stood and brushed the sand from himself. "You guys going to a Vash the Stampede sighting or something?"

"Ain't you heard it over KBTY?"

Vash shook his head. He knew KBTY was the Fed's official radio station to report on bounties and last-known sightings, but it certainly wasn't his station of choice.

"Well, no offense but you don't look like such a bad ass, so you best to stay away from May city for a while. This bounty's a revenge a long time coming!" Grinning ear to ear, the man punched the accelerator.

The legendary gunman stood slack in the dust cloud. Whatever was up, why'd it have to be where the girls were headed? He was going to lose his chance to catch up with she and his brother, miss his chance to find them in the West. But there was no way around it – he had to be sure the girls made it on that steamer okay – he owed them hat much.

The last of the bounty hunters' trucks sped near and he ran at them, waving his arms frantically for a ride. They ignored him, of course, leaving him to race after on foot.

OOO

Second sunset came and went, warming the hospital room till Vanessa felt herself grow damp with sweat against the stiff sheets. Prone in the cramped room with its windows closed tight, from the sound of it, she heard that Knives was asleep again. No wonder, given how quickly he'd gotten her there the day prior.

She licked her dry lips and reached for the pitcher and cup. Things were calm enough, she figured she'd give herself a break from the memories and let one of the oxycodone ease her to sleep.

As her fingertip met one of the pills in her dress edge, the door clicked open, letting in a rush of cooler air and the clear sounds of conversation. "Time for another dose," the nameless nurse from before muttered quietly. She moved quickly to her bedside and pressed two of the small discs into her unharmed palm. A freshly-poured cup of water met her lips shortly after. The nurse certainly was in a rush! And such a high dose, so soon after the last? This was gross negligence, but Vanessa was less likely to point this out than she was to actually take the pills she was given.

"...Vash..."

Vanessa froze mid-gulp and strained to pick up more of the frantic whispers from the hall.

She heard the nurse step away, but Vanessa needed her to be still a bit, and leave the door open. "Help me sit up?" she asked in a pitiful tone.

The nurse reluctantly assisted - not terribly gently - to get Vanessa propped against the two pillows she'd been given. This caused exquisite pain in all her injuries, but she managed to eavesdrop.

"...can't believe..."

"...of _the_ Vash the Stampede..."

"...here in May..."

"...have to evacuate the patients..."

"There, now," the nurse murmured, and with that she shuffled to the exit and closed the door hastily as well.

Vanessa could no longer hear the whispers, but her mind filled in the blanks. She clutched her hand over her mouth as though to keep herself from crying out in surprise. Vash, here?

Soft, deep breaths across the room told her Knives slept through all that. He'd most definitely not sleep through Vash's arrival. Her breath caught in her throat, to think what that confrontation would be like. Knives' emotions were in a very dark place, Vash wouldn't react well to seeing her injuries, and the twins' clash would be located in an unfortunately heavily populated city. In a hospital, worse yet!

No, Vanessa had to prevent that from happening. She downed the last of the warm sugared water from her cup, fished out the half-dozen pills she'd collected, and pressed them against the ceramic inner edge with her thumb. The discs broke into powder, one by one. Hands shaking, head pounding, she set the cup upon the side table and carefully, carefully poured in more sugared water.

"Knives?"

She swallowed and commanded herself calm. There'd be only one shot at this; she didn't have a plan B. She asked louder, "Knives?"

"I'm here," he replied through a yawn. He moved to her side and she heard his palms grip the metal gurney frame again. "I'm here."

"We're safe."

"I suppose so."

Her hand rubbed her forearm. "I feel much better already."

"That's...good. Are you thirsty?"

She turned one side of her mouth into a smirk. "I've drunk. I poured this glass for you. You must be tired."

Knives made a soft, scoffing sound. He started to say something, stopped himself, did so again, then took a slow breath in. "I've slept enough. I'm going to see about this doctor of yours, who's too busy to finish assisting you."

"Here, drink up – this tastes foul but has carbs in it – and could you sit and speak with me, wake up a little, before you do?"

He sounded unwilling to deny her request, and accepted the weight of the full cup from her fingers. His touch against her skin was poignant, for him as well, she imagined.

Knives slunk back to his seat and he brought the cup to his lips.

"Could you describe our surroundings, for me?" she asked softly, hoping to keep him speaking until the effects of the chemical became obvious.


	34. Aftermath

The thudding heartbeat vibrating in her ear was a distraction from the sounds outside the door, but breathing as shallow as she could, she could tell well enough what was going on in the hospital. Every now and then she'd pause to be sure Knives' breathing confirmed he was still sedated, then return to pressing her elongated ear against the closed door of her room.

An hour ago, when she'd first stiffly climbed from her bed and found the door, she heard sounds of frantic but hushed evacuation. Vanessa had locked the door as best she could, worrying they'd try to make her leave as well. Luckily though, the staff had forgotten her room. Now, the sounds of hurrying stopped and the coast was clear.

Feeling for the deadbolt, she unlocked and turned the knob. A light breeze greeted her as she stepped cautiously into the hall, but there wasn't a sound within the place. She'd been in too much pain earlier to recall the layout of the building, but managed to maneuver her way out, regardless. Her heartbeat only sped as she reached the open air and overheard distant shouts that included her friend's name.

Vanessa nervously smoothed her dress with her non-bandaged hand, noting as she did the dried feel of what must be her blood from before. She must look a mess, but there was little she could do about it. Shuffling forward, she finally found herself in what seemed an alleyway, where she crouched in wait, listening for his arrival.

OOO

"Lady, I'll only say it one more time. There's no time to load up your van."

"It's a jeep, not a van," Meryl snapped, wagging her finger at the steamer attendant. "What do you mean you-"

"We're leaving in five minutes, so you and your friend there need to take your tickets to the platform and board quick as you can or you're going to get left behind." He wiped his brow against his sleeve and sighed.

"Five minutes my ass, the scheduled departure is-"

"I don't have time for this, lady, none of us wants to be the Typhoon's next victims."

"What...Vash!" Meryl exchanged nervous glances with her partner, who clutched her backpack tighter to her chest.

"No, his _kids_!" a woman practically cried out nearby, giving the steamer attendant the chance to hurry away. "Children of the devil himself, oh God, our poor city is done for!"

"There you are, honey, get on the steamer, _get on now_!" a man yelled at her, yanking her by the elbow toward the platform. "If those demons don't get us, the swarm of bounty hunters on the way here are sure to cause a chaos we have to get ahead of!" With that, the two disappeared into the increasingly loud and frantic crowd growing at the steamer entrance.

"Meryl..."

She furrowed her brow and squeezed the handle on her suitcase. "I know, Millie. I know." Meryl stared off in thought for a moment till the sight of two crying children caught her eye. They were hugging each other beside the ticket window, the one with the huge 'SOLD OUT' sign haphazardly hung across it. Smiling wearily, she turned to her partner and set her fist on her hip. "Duty calls, but at least we can put these tickets to a good use!"

OOO

The toma water trough offered water as rank-tasting as it looked, but it quenched the thirst of an exhausted traveler well enough. Vash crouched beside the trough, huffing to catch his breath, and gazed at the city. He spat into the dirt but couldn't get the taste out of his mouth.

"Man, you're one shoddy lookin' bounty hunter. You think you're gonna stand a chance, buddy?"

"Against that Stampedey-Typhooney guy?" Vash asked sheepishly. "Maybe not, but I'm gonna try."

The teenager shook his head, his curly, red mop of hair lifting in the breeze. "No, not Vash, Vash's kids. Heard they're way worse than their old man."

"Corey!" a woman yelled from the window of a wagon nearby.

"Dad says some bounty hunter's gonna pull it off this time, probably kill the son and hold onto the daughter. You know, really stick it to that old bastard for what he did to July." Corey smiled. "Heard the sister's pretty. Maybe Vash'll come out from retirement with her as bait, you know? Maybe then somebody'll finally get him."

"Dammit, Corey!"

"Okay, well good luck, buddy. You're gonna need it."

As the wagon sped away, Vash swallowed past the lump in his throat. He climbed onto his feet, legs shaking wearily. Half-jogging, he entered May city, head on a swivel. Clearly, word had gotten out efficiently. It'd been plenty of time for the city to evacuate, time for families and merchants to clear city limits, in case of another July incident.

I'd also been plenty of time for bounty hunters from several counties away to arrive. Telltale vehicles littered the main streets, empty but decorated with splashes of bright color and decorated with bones and chains to inspire fear and respect. The sound of gunfire was surprisingly sparse, as though a battle were winding down. Surprising because there were so very many vehicles, and where there were so very many bounty hunters, one would expect to see some – any of them at all – and Vash saw none.

For a moment he felt relief, that he wasn't heading into a wasp's nest of violence. Then the nausea set back in, because the lack of violence really only proved that the violence was over. He'd missed it.

He didn't figure things went well, for anyone, and he wasn't sure what he was about to find.

The concentration of vehicles increased as he entered the center of the city, and the ground was worn from hundreds of bootfalls headed toward the hospital. A hospital would be a very strange choice for his brother, but it was a white building, and he'd known his brother to gravitate toward white-colored buildings.

His pace sped to a run when he spotted Meryl.

"Vash!" she cried out, smoothing her short hair back. Her clothes were mussed, and red stained her shoulder. Her tights were torn open at the knees. "I'm so glad you're here!"

"What happened – you're bleeding!" he gasped between breaths, hands on his knees.

She frowned. "It's nothing, just a graze. Millie's taken the other entrance; we're trying to keep the bounty hunters out of the hospital." Suddenly growing sullen, she murmured, "the ones that got in didn't come back out..."

Vash set his jaw, nodding. "So, Knives is in there."

Meryl nodded. "I'm guessing so. I'm not sure what we'd do if he came out; run away I suppose."

"Lucky he's staying put, then. What about Vanessa?"

When she didn't respond, he ran his hand through his hair, "Nevermind, how would you know..."

Meryl stared down at her boots. "She's in there, too. I let her in." After a beat, she lifted her eyes to meet his. He looked every bit as alarmed as she'd expected. "I shouldn't have, I know...but she said she thought she could stop him, and I...Vash, I barely recognized her, she..." She took a deep breath in.

Vash moved his mouth to speak, but stopped and set his jaw again. His serious expression told Meryl all she needed to know, and she stepped out of his way, watching him disappear into the hospital.

OOO

Vash set his finger along the trigger of his holstered Colt and stepped cautiously into the waiting room. He held the back of his false hand against his mouth. The sick, metallic odor of blood filled his nostrils as he walked carefully across the tiled floor.

Following the scent around a corner, he saw the edge of the carnage. The distinct lack of bloody footprints or smears leading away from the gore meant no one escaped. There were carved-off pieces of people and blood-soaked clothing bits piled against the sides of the hall, bodies lumped along the middle. Many were marred with incomplete cuts – injuries deep enough to bleed out from but not quickly. These deaths were completely without mercy. This was not an act of reason.

Everything lead to one room, at the end of a horrific hall of the dead. Bodies were piled several high, as though they'd climbed atop the already-dead to approach but been cut down from that distance. Again, he remembered there were no footsteps away, so though things seemed calm and quiet, his brother must still be in that room. He'd find him there, waiting for more mislead victims to find him.

His walk down the hall took what seemed to be forever, careful as he was not to step on anyone. Finally finding himself at the entryway of the room, he stepped over body parts to press his back against the corner. Gun at his chin, he psyched himself to spin round the corner, to rush at his twin and end things.


	35. Stained

"Get out! Go, before we kill you! Want to die like the rest of them!"

Rounding the corner, Vash caught sight of Vanessa. She sat partially surrounded by high piles of body parts, with Knives' slumbering head in her lap. Her hand was pressed into his neck, her face mostly obscured by bandages. Blood had seeped partially through the cloth strips in diagonal lines. The purple of her dress was tainted rust red at the chest and side. "Just go," she added after drawing a few wincing, panting breaths.

"Vanessa...I...it's Vash," he stammered, stepping carefully past wet parts of people. It took effort to avoid slipping in the slick of blood.

"Vash," she repeated. "Vash." Her voice came mostly from the less bandaged side of her face. "What does this say?" she asked urgently, holding out a glass vial. The fingers holding the bottle oozed blood from deep cuts.

Ignoring the vial label, he crouched down in front of her. He took hold of the blood-spattered front of Knives' shirt and lifted him from her lap. His other hand still held his gun, which he pressed against his brother's temple. He coolly stared down as his brother's head fell limp to the side, away from the pressure of the barrel.

Somehow, through his anger, he heard her question him.

"I'm going to kill him," Vash answered simply.

"You can't – this wasn't his fault..." Letting the bloody hand with the vial lower in the air, she gestured with the other around the room. "They were coming to collect bounty, and he was drugged. I drugged him, so I could sneak out and find you. It was my fault! I had this plan...Well, it didn't work. I didn't expect him to wake up. I came back to inject him. You have to tell me what this says."

"You didn't slaughter these people," Vash continued to whisper, watching the skin on his brother's temple form a ridge along the edge of his Colt's barrel as he pressed it down. It would be unfairly merciful, to kill his brother with a single bullet while he slept. "Are you going to tell me, next, that you accidentally fell on a bunch of knives?"

"No, but my injuries are my own fault," she argued, finding his gun blindly, wrapping her good hand around his white knuckles. "Put this away and I'll explain."

Vash wasn't used to being on this side of hostage negotiations. "I can't stand to let him hurt anyone ever again."

"Neither can I. But this isn't the way. There's another way."

Loosing a deep breath, Vash's barrel left Knives' skin and hovered above the pressure mark. "This is the only sure way. Move aside. You have enough blood on you already."

She closed her fingers around his tensed hand. "Look at him right now; does he look able to hurt anybody anymore?"

"When will he wake up."

"Depends on what this says." Vanessa again held the bloodied vial up toward his face.

Vash sounded out the chemical name on the label, barely visible through the blood. His eyes traced the sharp edges of her oozing finger wounds, and journeyed up her arm to the bandages hidden partially by blood-matted hair.

"Several hours, at least," She responded. "I just _grabbed_ one. There are plenty in there, if I'd grabbed them instead, he wouldn't have gone down. Plenty would've killed him. I chanced upon one of the right ones. Help me get a whole lot more of these." Her injured hand gripped the vial, shaking slightly.

Not so enthused as she, that she hadn't chanced to pick a deadly vial, he let the smell of death around him remind him of his anger. The blood showing through her bandages steeled it. "Vanessa, he has to die."

"What meaning does it give your last century and a half, to toss aside your principles to put him down like this, today? You want to end this the coward's way?"

Vash frowned. Vanessa wasn't very good at hostage negotiations – you don't insult the one with the gun. "It's the coward's way to allow the death and injury of strangers and loved ones, just to keep his conscience clear."

"You sound like Wolfwood," she replied, a small smile on her face. "He came around to your point of view, too, over time.

"Vash, snap out of it. Let's try chemicals. If they don't keep him harmless, you can always put a bullet in his brain _later_."

He didn't think he could do it. Not anymore. The Colt rested snug in its holster at his hip. Rather than drop his brother back into Vanessa's lap, or onto the bloody floor, he carried him by the collar to the bloodied gurney and dropped him haphazardly onto it.

Helping Vanessa climb to her feet, Vash ground his teeth, attention again on her hidden wounds. "What happened." He tried to lift the edge of her facial bandages.

Vanessa waved his hand away. "I forced him to open his gate when he was sleeping, with my gate. To share memories with me," she added in a whisper. "I didn't know what I was doing, so it kind of worked and kind of didn't. I have his memories now." She ushered him to a supply closet in the corner of the room. "But I got scratched before he turned it into feathers."

"Scratched," Vash repeated dryly. As she stepped into the open closet, lined with rows and rows of glass vials and other things, he snatched her left elbow and carefully lifted her hand upward, into the illumination of the pull-light. Taking the bloody vial away from her, he studied the gaping wounds left by Knives' blades. In places, they were shallow, and at the fingertips, the diagonal cuts were to the bone. "Is that the official medical term for this? Scratches?"

"I'll heal up." It hurt her shoulder, to extend her arm like this, but it was too much a relief to be in Vash's presence again, she could bear the pain without showing it. His gentle grip on her elbow let away. She let a broad smile fill the part of her face he could see, though it was a smaller, weaker smile on the side of her face where the bandages went all the way down to her jaw. "It barely hurts. I'll be back to normal in no time."

Vash wished he could believe her lie. But she didn't sell it well enough, because she didn't believe the lie either.

"As to what happened here," she continued as she bandaged her hand with an errant roll, "he brought me here to have my wounds tended. He sat in here with me, but he couldn't overhear them talking, like I did. Not very clearly, but I heard them say something about you, here, and an evacuation of the hospital. I slipped him my painkillers – I can't believe they weren't enough to keep him under for more than a short while, but then I didn't see how much he drank – and I snuck out of here to find you. I didn't want there to be trouble. But I didn't hear the whole story. I didn't know they were talking about us, not you. They must have come in to arrest him, and they woke him. He was in a haze; he may not have understood what was going on. When I made my way back here, he relaxed considerably, and he asked me if I was a ghost. I told him I was here to take care of him. He knelt down, quiet and still, and he let me inject him. This time I know exactly how much of it he has in him.

"We need to use that vial for reference, and take all of it." She rattled off a few other long chemical names, telling him they needed all of those as well.

He worked quickly, doing as instructed, since she couldn't do it herself. She couldn't see. Vash bit his lip, hard, because of that.

Hands out, she fumbled around the shelves, finding a bin of syringes and holding those out. "Anything you see that'd be useful, grab it. And bandages, and stitching material. I don't have enough of that."

Vash packed away the syringe bin, a blood pressure cuff, all the while chewing into his lip. He fought to control his emotions. "You haven't been stitched?"

"Some, on my back, over the metal supports. They hadn't gotten to the rest, yet."

Tying closed the bag of stolen supplies, Vash fought the impulse to question what metal supports would be needed for. He had plenty himself; he knew how bad things had to be, to need those. "First things first. We have to get you sewn up."

"All the staff evacuated. Right now, have a bigger problem to focus on than my cosmetic concerns." Waving about her unharmed hand to feel her way out of the closet, she backed out near the gurney and its slumbering contents.

Huffing out audibly to get her attention, Vash stepped close to her but didn't dare touch. "Vanessa, what did he do to you..."

"I told you-"

"Before that," he interrupted, raking his fingers through his hair as he glared at the sleeping mistake of his birth. "The past two months...while he...what did he do to you?" he choked out, as tears finally began to fall from his eyes.

Chewing softly at her lip, she shook her head. "To me? He made me hold his hand. Made me follow and rest and such when he said so. Nothing more criminal than that, to me. I'm okay." She wondered if she should reach out to reassure him but it was too awkward to try. What he really meant to ask, she wanted to banish from his mind completely. "He was waiting for a day that hadn't come yet."

Vash nodded, and muttered a curse under his breath for doing so. "A day that'll never come. Um...let me help you out of here." He sniffled loudly and pulled the drawstring of the bag of supplies over his head, his arm. Gingerly, he lifted her uninjured arm by the wrist, to guide her to encircle his neck. She accepted, and leaned against him as he wordlessly guided her through the hallway of dismembered bodies, the sea of blood, into the crisp, desert air.

OOO

Meryl furrowed her brow when she saw them. A messy Vanessa hung partway from around Vash's bowed head as he eased her away from the hospital. Once he stepped into the sun, Meryl saw the light glint off the tears dripping from his chin.

Millie cried out, "Oh, Miss Vanessa, are you okay?"

The plants didn't answer the question, nor did either lift their head to meet anyone's gaze. Vash left Vanessa to lean against the jeep the girls had pulled up by the hospital entrance, and, hesitating a moment, he muttered something to the extent of, "Going back in for him."

Millie had leaned down and was peering up under Vanessa's hair. "Miss Vanessa, your face..."

"I had an accident," the woman murmured, waving a bandaged hand slightly in the air.

"Gosh..."

Meryl fingered her derringers, and turned to glare at the entrance.

OOO

"Meryl, could you slow down," Millie asked sweetly, pausing as the jeep caught air temporarily upon crossing a dune. She gripped the dashboard handle for dear life. "This is really bumpy!"

Her small friend tightened her death-hold on the wheel and opened her mouth to argue, but Vash's voice cut in instead.

"We have to hurry; don't slow down."

Millie frowned, staring into the backseat. Upon hitting another sharp dune, the jeep jolted and Vanessa's stiff frame cringed noticeably. The blond woman's unharmed hand gripped the side of Meryl's seat and she'd pressed the top of her head against the back of it for stability.

Another extra long, extra uncomfortable silence passed, till Meryl broke it by calling out, "There, now, smooth patch for a while."

Sighing relief, Millie hoped that would make things easier on Miss Vanessa. Plus, she figured a rough drive wouldn't be so good for keeping Mr. Knives asleep in the back.

"Don't touch him!"

Millie startled at Vash's yell, and turned round in her seat. She saw Vanessa swiveled round, leaning over the back of the bench.

"Vash, I have to monitor his pulse, if I-"

"No. I'll do it," Vash demanded. He watched for her hand to move away from his brother, prone in the storage part of the jeep, and he shoved his dirty fingertips under his brother's chin himself. "Nobody touches him but me, from now on."

Vanessa's face seemed to drain of what little color it had, but she nodded slightly. The jeep hit an indent in the sand, jolted, and Vanessa involuntarily let out a sharp yelp from the pain.

"Meryl, stop the jeep," Millie demanded suddenly.

The vehicle slowed slightly. "Time for a rest stop?"

Millie nodded seriously, and Meryl did as asked.

Once the engine was off, Millie climbed to the sand and gripped the side door near Vanessa. "Miss Vanessa , do you have a change of clothes?"

"Yes..."

"Come on, Miss Vanessa, let me help you out of that dirty dress," Millie insisted, brow knitted together, her voice cracking a little. "Mr. Vash won't look, will you. It's bad enough we have to be in such a hurry, jostling you around when you're hurt. I don't think you should sit back here soaked in those people's blood."

Vanessa frowned. She felt the stiffness of dried blood on her legs and arms, shuddered against the way it hardened the fabric of her dress up the skirt and down her back. It was miserable.

"Let me help you," Vash murmured, steadying her by the uninjured arm up and out of the jeep. He gave her hand a brief squeeze before watching her walk out a ways, and then turned his back to them as requested.

Doing what little she could to assist, Vanessa eased herself out of her dress while Millie helped to unclasp and untie it and her boots. Reluctantly, she let her underdress drop to the sand and stood sightless, blind in the cooling afternoon sun. Millie took handfuls of water from a canteen to wet Vanessa's stained skin, and handfuls of sand to rub the blood away. It made Vanessa feel like an invalid at a hospital, helpless and exposed. But the thought of sitting in the blood any longer horrified her far more.

She couldn't see the progress, but once she no longer felt the taint of blood, Millie let up with the sand and she helped to brush away the granules. Finally, the two tugged a fresh underdress and such onto Vanessa as carefully as they could. "Thank you," Vanessa repeated several times.

"It's no trouble at all," Millie would respond cheerfully, because she felt someone should pretend to be happy, and it certainly wasn't volunteered by the others.


	36. Down in the Dungeon with the Dragon

It took several fearful moments before she remembered where she was. The ache of her wounds didn't help, nor did the unfamiliar rattling of a pipe, nor the cold but unnatural and not-cave-like feel of the wall against the bed.

The muffled sound of his footsteps, probably behind a closed door nearby, that is what finally reminded her of her surroundings.

It was a basement in a commercial area of December, very spartan. The floor came furnished – not nicely so, but she would have gratefully laid upon the musty bed even if Vash hadn't covered it with his traveling blanket first. She recalled insisting that Vash let her help him about the place, but he wouldn't let her touch the 'prisoner' and there was the nagging truth that she wasn't much help with anything anymore. No, she should sleep, Vash had argued. She didn't recall fighting it for very long; she must've drifted into an immediate slumber.

Sitting there, she suddenly felt very thirsty. She slid out off of the bed, noting that it was just a couple of mattresses sitting on a concrete floor, and slowly she made her way across the room. Vash had poured her a fresh canteen in this particular direction, so she stepped over to where the sink must be. Her waving hand found the cool, metal spout. It took many handfuls to get very much water to her lips, one-handed as she was, but her thirst was sated. Hand upon the wall, she felt her way to the left a few feet, to the warmer, smoother surface of a doorframe.

Upon the turn of the doorknob, she intended to step inside. Before she could utter his name, Vash interrupted the motion. Her waving hand met his chest instead of air, felt warm, slick sweat on his exposed skin and scars. Vanessa drew her palm back in surprise.

"I don't want you to ever go in there. For anything," Vash explained, as he ushered her backward and closed the door behind them. "I'm going to handle everything beyond that door."

"Well, fine, but you'd let me at least _see_ in there if I could." She rubbed her hand dry upon her side. "So do me the favor of _describing_ the situation behind the door, would you?"

Vash clicked and turned locks before edging toward the sink. "A tattoo artist used to live here." He pulled water up his arm. "Left behind all his stuff. That room was his studio, and Knives will be staying in the chair."

"It'd be better if he were lying down," she murmured.

"Yeah. He is. It's one of those...mechanical chairs." Clearing his throat, he turned the water knob off. "He's strapped down and fully sedated. He'll stay that way indefinitely."

"The whole cocktail...?"

"Mm Hmm." Vash rubbed away the sweat with a towel from his pack. As he tugged on a clean sweatshirt, several loud knocks echoed into the basement. "It's okay; an expected visitor," he assured in response to her startled pose. He led her to a chair at a table nearby, and covertly slid his Colt back into his hip holster before ascending the creaking staircase to the door.

Vanessa's assumption that he was expecting the girls was soon proven wrong. A heavier set of footsteps followed Vash back to the concrete floor. She could hardly make a move to cover her ears, or hide from sight.

"Thank you for coming quickly, Doctor Krushnik," Vash was saying as they came to the tabletop. "This is Vanessa, sir."

A cold, bony but strong hand gripped hers in a handshake. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma'am. Now, let's get to it." The heavy thud of a satchel announced his intent, along with the skidding of another chair. "How long has it been since the injuries were sustained?"

"Two." She cleared her throat. "Two days, now."

He grunted subtle disapproval. "Well, let's see what we have, then." Dr. Krushnik began to snip open the cloth bandages, making quick work of everything from her forehead to her neck and back.

Vanessa had unwrapped her hand and fingers by the moment her other bandages were hastily but carefully pulled away. The doctor's fingers pressed at the edges of her wounds. She drew measured breaths through her nose.

"I will do what I can, you understand."

Vash nodded but his eyes remained fixed on her face. This was his first look at what his brother's weapon had done to her, and he found the sight quieting. It was worse than he expected. His stomach dropped further – if it were possible – when he realized the strangeness about her eyes was that the lids were sliced open.

In addition to a half dozen cuts of varying length from chin to brow, there were two cuts to her left eyelid and one to her right. The tension over her eye opened the wounds, through which Vash saw the whites of her eyes, and the edge of iris. Once Dr. Krushnik had wiped the areas with alcohol, he applied a bit of medical tape to each lid, sealing them mercifully closed. Vash found he'd been holding his breath.

Vanessa lifted her taped lids slightly, letting her glazed pupils roll about while the doctor began stitching her hand.

"Can you see?" Vash mumured, leaning across the tabletop.

She bit her lip as her eyes quivered, as tears of strain rolled from her eyes. "It's very blurry."

He waved three fingers near her face.

"I can see the movement."

"How many fingers?"

"I have no idea."

"Ma'am, I must insist you give your sight a rest. Need to keep them clean and wet." He paused stitching to apply another strip of tape to each eye, to keep them closed. With quick fingers, he continued stitching with his strong, black thread.

Vanessa nodded.

Sliding his hand under her uninjured palm, Vash squeezed her fingers reassuringly.

She accepted and gripped his hand firmly. Her jaw was clenched tight against the individual piercing pains of each stitch. Breathing rhythmically, slowly through her nose, she hypnotized herself with the repetition enough to lose track of time. Soon Dr. Krushnik began to sew at her shoulder and up her neck.

Vash gasped softly, and Vanessa let go her vice grip, sliding her hand into her lap. She frowned.

"Sir, perhaps you'd do well with some fresh air," the doctor suggested, wiping his sleeve across his forehead.

Smirking slightly, Vash broke his gaze from her damaged face for the first time in about thirty minutes. His false hand rubbed at the other which ached from Vanessa's tense grip.

"Vash, you don't have to stay the whole time," she agreed through clenched teeth.

He watched the needle dive in and weave out of her skin once more, pressed his knuckles against his eyes, and stood. "I'll get out of your hair, then. Will be in the next room if you need me, okay?"

Pulse quickening when she heard his bootfalls move toward Knives' room, Vanessa spoke up about the same time as the door clicked open. "Vash, where are you going."

"I need to consult a superior being," he grumbled.

"Please don't-"

"Now, ma'am," Dr. Krushnik interjected. "A man should have a right to his religion, don't you think?"

"I..." Vanessa clamped her jaw together again. She listened to the door close behind him and tried to get her breathing back into hypnotic rhythm. The needle dove into the soft flesh under her jaw and she froze.

OOO

"Did he literally speak to you!" she asked, voice lifting with concern as she rose from the table, once the doctor was finally out of earshot.

Vash stepped down the last few stairs and tucked his wallet, several bills lighter, back into his pocket. "We had a conversation, yes."

Vanessa stepped in his direction, bowing her head to let her hair cover the new black threading on her face. "Vash, if he can talk, he can-"

Tapping his temple, Vash replied, "In here. Remember, we can talk without talking." He didn't immediately realize she couldn't see the gesture.

She understood anyway, and nodded. "Okay. Yes, I remember. But the full cocktail should leave him totally unconscious. Unless you want him to become very angry, very bored, and quite possibly very insane, you need to use the _entire_ cocktail and forfeit the twin-speak."

"And let him sleep peacefully instead of thinking on what he's-" Vash stopped and set his hand upon her shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Let me."

She sighed.

"Listen, how about I draw you a bath? Dr. Krushnik said it's fine to do that, now. With the one hand, do you think you can-"

"Yeah, I can." She smiled a little, at the thought of a warm bath, of the chance to get clean without an audience. "That would be nice. Thank you."

Vash stepped away, into the adjoining bathroom, and stoppered the tub. He tested the water temperature with his flesh-and-blood hand. "You're in luck; I have a bar of soap. Let me undo the back of your dress for you."

Vanessa turned for him to assist as offered.

"Oh, that reminds me. The dress you were wearing, it doesn't seem salvageable. I gave it to Jessica, from the ship – I hope that's okay – she's going to make you replacements."

"Really?" She had only one dress left, and Knives had torn the sleeves from it as he had the other. "That's very kind of her; she's never even met me."

"She insisted, after she heard you were responsible for leashing him."

"And what a good job I did of it. How long was I asleep..."

Vash chuckled. "Brad and Jessica stopped by for a few minutes while I was cleaning; they didn't come inside."

Rubbing at her arm, Vanessa nodded. "You've been awake this whole time, haven't you. Go and sleep; I can take it from here."

On cue, he yawned. "Well, at least till the girls get here. I'll just...call if you need anything, I'm leaving the door open. Not that I'm going to...I mean, you can call if you need help with anything."

Vanessa undressed and smiled as the warm water enveloped her.

OOO

She was too tired to fight her dress, but did manage to get her underdress back on after drying off. With a towel draped about her shoulders, she made her slow, shuffling way over toward the chairs. As her fingers found the back of one, she was startled by a rustling across the room. "Vash..."

More rustling, the dry sound of paper. "Yep."

"Vash, wouldn't you rather be sleeping?" she whispered, as though he were resting.

His reply was delayed by a deep breath. "I was laying down to, when I felt your letter in my pocket. I started reading."

Vanessa stepped carefully toward his voice until her shin bumped against the mattress edge. She tentatively seated herself upon the edge.

His weight shifted a little, beside her. "Was it as hard to write as it was to read?"

She rubbed at her arm anxiously, sure he was staring at her, waiting for some grand reply.

After a long pause, he continued. "You lied to me, here."

"It wasn't all lies," she murmured. Reaching toward the pages, she stopped, and frowned. "He didn't hurt me. Doesn't mean he treated me all that well. I do blame myself for Aires, but-"

"It wasn't entirely your fault," he interrupted. "And all for something that 'meant nothing'..."

She felt her face go numb. She clutched at the edge of the mattress. "Didn't mean anything..."

"I'm quoting your letter. It meant something to _me_."

"Well, _that_ part of the letter was a lie," she insisted, turning her scarred face toward him blindly. "I didn't want to...I just didn't want you to...I wanted you to forget about us. I thought it'd make it easier, for you to move on; forget about me."

"It didn't."

Vanessa wished once more she could see his expression. She felt ashamed, awkward as she sat inches from him on the low, modest bed.

Vash huffed, and ran a hand through his hair. "I should've gone after you sooner."

"That's not fair," she snapped, keeping her voice low and her face down. "In retrospect, with what I took," she continued, pointing to her temple, "it's clear to me. Things may have worked out. I was getting somewhere. I give myself credit for that, but at least you can agree to give me credit for the lives he _didn't_ take while we were out there."

"You think he'd given up his crusade, for-"

"Not yet," Vanessa countered. "But he would have. I could have worked _miracles_ with the guilt of these cuts, alone. I thought I had no control, but...suffice to say, I know a _lot_ about your brother now."

"Going to go back to your original plan, is that it?" he grumbled, hardly hiding his disgust.

"You'd let me?"

He began to speak but she cut him off mid-syllable.

"No, Vash, I want to go with this basement prison plan of yours," she hurriedly explained. "It's flawed and rough. But I'm starting to get used to it. Like this is one of the better ways this could have worked out – maybe the best."

"You say, sitting there blind and torn up, a room away from him..."

"...Talking to _you_." When he didn't reply, when the silence went on a few beats too long, she cleared her throat and muttered, "I didn't let myself imagine this would happen again."

His silence endured, every moment adding more tension to her tightening chest. If there was something she could say to express her apology, her determination to preserve his philosophy, she'd have tried. But it was as difficult for her to explain as her feelings for him, if not as difficult for her to fully understand, herself.

Vash did her the favor of ending the tension, not by speaking, but by wrapping his arm around her.

She sighed relief and leaned over, resting a little weight against his shoulder. He sort of heaved a breath. She suddenly remembered how tired he must be. "Lie back," she insisted. To facilitate it, she pulled her legs under her and moved back onto the bed. Vanessa could tell from the movement of the mattress that he'd swung his feet up. Upon reaching her hand toward him, she found his chest with her palm and pressed to encourage him to lie back and relax completely. The quick pace of his heartbeat surprised her.

"They'll be here in a few hours, to invite you to stay with them," he muttered, his voice soft and a little clumsy like a child falling asleep.

It wasn't what she'd expected, that he'd be purposely vague, that he'd leave this open. He was clearly anticipating whatever she wanted to do with the situation. Somehow that was of great comfort. That made her smile. She laughed. "Would it be rude, if I kept the option open without accepting outright?"

Vash yawned. "I think you're entitled to that."

"Excellent." She eased herself around him and laid down very carefully. She was close enough to feel the wind of his breath but not so close as to feel its heat. His hand slid beneath hers, cradling it between them.

"I don't want to sleep right now," he muttered, sounding even more the defiant, sleepy child.

She smirked. "I'll be here when you wake up."


	37. Medicating

Millie stuck out her lower lip. "Mr. Brad and Jessica were here? Oh, I would have liked to say hello."

"That's hardly the most important part of their visit," Meryl scoffed.

"Of course, what was I thinking. Did they look well, Mr. Vash?"

Vash laughed, leaning dangerously far back in his chair. "Yeah, they were in good health. And good spirits."

"Well, they would be, given the ships are arriving within the week!" Meryl exclaimed. "We're finally going to get to live like civilized people!"

"On Earth," Vanessa whispered, barely noticed by the happy folk around the table with her.

"Earth," Vash repeated.

"You're coming, the both of you, with us? Oh, say you will!"

He paused, and his smile softened. "Millie, I don't think we can be sure of that yet. But if everything goes well..."

"Then, yes, we will," Vanessa chimed in, lifting her face a bit so that the dull light caught on the strings of her stitches.

"That's wonderful," Millie announced as she threw her hands up. "After all, this is no planet to start a family on, when there's a choice of places, that is."

Meryl saw Vash's face brighten in a blush, and waved her hand dismissively at Millie. "Nobody's talking about starting a family."

"Really? But they'd have such pretty children!" Millie beamed.

"Boy, it's getting late," Meryl started, eager to change the subject. "Not to mention you need to get a head start on those letters you need to write!"

"Oh my gosh, I sure do! Well, Mr. Vash, Miss Vanessa, thank you for having us over, I guess we'll be over to visit later this week."

"Day after tomorrow, we'll be over after dinner, that's fine, Vash?" Meryl hurriedly planned as she pulled on her jacket and ushered Millie toward the door.

"Oh, yes," Vash agreed, face still red as the door latched closed behind them. Each rickety step creaked softly as he stepped back down into the basement room, toward her. He crossed the small, cool room and slowly sat back down.

"Vash, about this starting-a-family thing..."

He waved his hand dismissively despite her lack of sight. "We don't need to talk about that, now."

"Might as well. It's your business to know, now," Vanessa explained, idly itching a black thread on the bridge of her nose. "I'm barren."

For a few moments, Vash wondered what the correct reply would be. He'd express empathy, but she seemed fairly indifferent about it. He thought he might offer some support that he didn't want to have children anyway, but that was a lie. Really, he felt sick and, he realized, disappointed. But that was hardly a thing to admit. So, he simply said, "Oh."

"Well, I'm glad I got that off my chest," she continued, smiling slightly, blindly. "We can move forward, now, assuming you still want to be with me."

He chuckled, since she meant it as a joke. After all, he felt he did want to be with her. Despite her scars, her past, her limitations and shortcomings. "Nothing will make me change my mind," he assured, closing his hand over hers, as they sat a tabletop apart.

OOO

Vash woke late on his third day in the musty dwelling and commenced keeping himself as busy as possible. He noted that Vanessa stayed lazily in bed a while longer than he, seemingly deep in thought but unwilling to move yet. When she finally rose and felt her way to the bathroom, Vash tugged off their bedding to replace with fresh linens.

He was ready to wash them in the multi-purpose tub when she'd finished cleaning up, and he heard her seat herself upon the closed toilet behind him as he started dousing their laundry. As he scrubbed sudsy clothing, he glanced over his shoulder. She was once again wringing her hands, fidgeting ferociously. He'd seen this get worse over the past couple of days, seemingly less from boredom than anxiety. The sounds of him washing were making her hands tense moreso, a hint that not being useful for simple chores like laundry was itself a source of stress for her.

"Those dresses Jessica brought you, they're really pretty."

"Are they?" she murmured, patting softly at the itchy stitches along her neck.

He shook his head at himself. "They are. I'm glad you were ok letting them in. Brad, in particular, was happy to meet you again. He said he admired your strength and presence, you know."

"I do. I heard," she smirked sadly, pointing at her sensitive ears. "How many days of medication do we have left?"

He grunted and a small splash of soapy water struck him in the eye. "Plenty, don't worry."

"Plenty of propof...The one labeled Milk of Amnesia? We'll need-"

"Don't worry," he repeated. He didn't want to talk about it. He especially didn't want to 'fess up that he'd stopped administering propofol once he observed the euphoric side effect it had on his brother. That simply wouldn't do. Instead, he upped the lorazepam dosage, which made Knives nauseous and dizzy when conscious enough to use telepathy. It was more fitting.

After several moment's silence, Vanessa continued, "The Milk-of is the most important. It's effective and if he's cognizant at all, he'll probably enjoy the experience. Won't want to escape so much as get the next dose, which-"

"Vanessa," Vash near-snapped as he wrung out a sheet. He stood to hang it from one of the lines he'd hung above the tub. "I wonder what kind of accommodations the Earth ships will have," he mused as cheerfully as he could.

"Hmph." She pulled her knees to her chin. "The humanity of this planet, crammed into a tin can. I do hope it's spacious, maybe that will help improve their...behaviors."

"Oh, everyone will be happy for the promise of Earth. Plus, the people – the crew, I guess – they're coming as a rescue crew. They should be equipped for things to be rough here. It's not like they have to feed everyone that well or give people feather beds to keep order."

"Perhaps you're right. Or perhaps you give them too much credit."

"You don't have to go if you don't want to."

Vash finished hanging the rest of the clothing up to dry as the sudsy water rushed down the drain. The silence forced him to soften and feel a little bad for the comment.

The apology was forming on his lips when she padded out on bare feet, and with a sigh he followed her out. She was standing with her forehead pressed against a cold, concrete wall, and he didn't have words for her yet. Vash gathered up the supplies by the sink and disappeared into his brother's room to clean and such.

An hour later, he emerged and immediately worked at rinsing off his arms at the sink. After a deep breath, he approached Vanessa again. He knelt in front of her, as she sat hunched at the side of the bed, rifling through the side table.

Her reddened face bowed low. Stitched and uninjured fingers alike slid over little bottles, studying them, searching for some hint they wouldn't offer. It became too hard to watch her struggle with the things she couldn't see, and he reached for the bottle in her hand.

Vanessa tugged it away. "You have to mark these so I can read them somehow," she insisted in a low, hissing whisper. "Mark my words, I'll have to do this myself."

"No, you won't, I'll be here to do it." He rested fingertips softly on the back of her hand. "Until we both escape his nightmare, it's my job."

"My job is to be grateful to be saved, and silently sit in a pretty dress?"

"Vanessa." Vash ran his hand through his hair. "Don't let my lousy attitude get to you. I was being mean. This is all stressing me out a lot, too, and I'm probably not handling it well. Listen, this one's the Milk stuff."

She palmed the cool bottle, breathing out slowly. Her other hand accepted the syringe Vash offered.

"Fill that one; I'll tell you when to stop. There you go. We'll keep a few of these prepped in this spot right here. Yeah, there, on top of the sack there. Those are yours, for if he – or anyone – gets out of hand. Okay?"

Vanessa nodded slightly. She finished with three syringes under his direction, which she set upon the tabletop.

"Nothing to worry about. I promise."

She nodded again. "It's not that I don't trust you. It's hard to wait, but that's what we're doing, I suppose."

"Pretty much. At least we have each other while we wait." He arranged the prepped syringes in the top drawer. "Now, I have a special dinner planned. We'll have a nice meal and we're not going to talk about impending, historic things. Just things that make us _happy_. And we'll go to bed early."

"That does sound nice. We haven't spent _nearly_ enough time in bed, for my taste."

Vash closed the drawer and seated himself beside her. He wound his arm round her waist. "We should probably keep it down, tonight, though," he muttered. "Last night the...mm, _volume_...was a bit loud."

Vanessa smirked. "Oh, do you think the neighbors heard? Really?"

"I was referring more to our 'roommate' than our neighbors," he replied in a mumble.

"Him. Frankly, if he's conscious to hear it, so be it. I hope that asshole heard everything."

"Oh." Vash cleared his throat and moved his fingers gently along the curve of her. "Honestly, I guess I feel about the same."

She pressed herself closer against him. "I think we've put up with too much, to self-censor. Don't you agree?"

He kissed her in a slow, lingering way. He didn't exactly agree with her, but he certainly wouldn't argue. Each day, it became easier to dose his twin with weak mixes of drugs with powerfully negative side effects in lieu of the softer, deeper medications. It became easier for his lust and affection for her and his disgust and hatred of his twin to coexist within him. Those were the poles he felt his emotions held between.


	38. Ships Bringing Hope

"Ah, welcome to my plush quarters, dear brother." Knives' voice rang clearly in Vash's mind to punctuate the click of the door closing the twins in. "Come to force slop down my throat and clean waste from me? Is it teatime already?"

"It's five in the afternoon," Vash corrected, setting a bucket of water, towels, and jars of both disinfectant and pureed food upon the cold, concrete floor.

"A thousand pardons. I haven't a window, nor the power to lift my lids to see through such a thing," his brother hissed back telepathically.

"Should I sympathize? You're alive. After what you did to Aires, and to all the other people you've killed, you ought to be dead, yourself."

"Is that a threat, dear brother?"

"Hmph."

After a pause, Knives asked, "How long am I to lie here, enduring your insolence?"

Vash was silent, working at the tasks he hated.

"You don't intend to keep me in this state indefinitely..."

"Why not? You don't deserve freedom; this is the only prison that'll hold you."

"Planning to remain on this planet as my jailer?" Knives mocked.

"Maybe so." Vash glared at his incapacitated twin. For a moment, he bit his tongue, holding back words he didn't want her overhearing. The door was solid between them, but those strange ears of hers gave her piqued hearing they knew not the limitations of. Nevertheless, Vash wanted to say these things. As much as he hated using telepathy, he needed to say them, and though he barely admitted it to himself, he wanted to savor whatever further discomfort he could cause his brother. He switched to speaking in this unnatural manner before continuing, "Don't think for a moment _she's_ staying."

"She will. It's not in her best interests to go and she knows that."

He shrugged dismissively and tugged a clean sheet between Knives and the chair. "Whether she wants to or not, she's escaping with my friends."

Knives' tone was seeped in genuine concern when he argued, "You can't condemn her to that."

"She would be safe. From you." Vash frowned at his prone brother, staring at his unmoving form, waiting for the reply.

"That was an accident," Knives finally snapped. "You can't think I did that on purpose." His voice softened, and he added very slowly, "Brother, does she heal well?"

"I refuse to tell you how she fares, as though you've a right to ask."

"At least grant me the knowledge of how fully she'll recover."

Vash almost responded honestly, that he didn't know the answer to that, but the thought of her blood, her cuts, her eyes stoked the fire of his anger. "I won't grant you anything."

"Suit yourself; play this game. I don't believe I _need_ your input, as it is, you make it a point to subject me to a variety of noises. Such sounds prove how healthy she must be."

His twin clenched his teeth.

"You are ashamed of how you mistreat me. But you needn't admit it, we can move on. Her welfare is, to me, more important than your petty revenge. You must learn to see past yourself, for her sake. You've studied her scars as well, by now, haven't you? You see in them how poorly she fares amongst the humans. It would be far too cruel to abandon her, helpless, without a weapon. She's a clever thing; she won't board if she doesn't want to."

"Let me worry about that."

"Ah. Another reason she won't leave," Knives replied in mind, sounding suddenly amused. "The promise she made to me."

"Uh, huh."

"You are so impudent because you hold her attentions...for the moment. Fine. But you should know she is not yours." Somehow his transmitted words sounded as though delivered through a grin. "When we were together, do you know what she offered me? She said she would-"

"Shut up. I don't care."

"Yes, you do. I'll leave you to your imagination. My point – if I hadn't turned her down, she would have. She was willing to do anything." He repeated, "Anything."

"I said, shut up," Vash sneered aloud. He clicked a fingernail against the glass vial of a syringe, in a threat to make him silent by way of complete unconsciousness if he wanted to. Switching back to telepathy, he continued, "She's probably told you a lot of things you wanted to hear."

"Those weren't empty words-"

"When she thought it'd keep you from being a genocidal maniac, yeah, I'm sure she meant whatever she told you. If you didn't take advantage of that? Well. Guess you're a better man than I took you for."

"The offer I _couldn't_ refuse was her promise to bear my offspring. She swore to it, so she will hold up her end of the bargain, as I will hold up mine."

Vash's hands paused in place.

"Oh, poor Vash, I've hurt your feelings – but it's sensible, you know, that she wouldn't want to bear the children of a broken fool."

Vash finally asked, "What did she say, exactly?"

Knives paused to remember those glorious words. "She promised to allow me to make as many sentient plants with her body that I can, so long as I wait till the humans are gone. Why are you laughing?"

Rubbing his hand through his spiky hair, Vash lifted his gaze to his brother. Sighing, he dropped his hands to his knees. "She's infertile. Didn't tell you that, did she."

"...Nonsense."

"Think over her wording. Not quite lying, not showing all her cards, either. You don't have a monopoly on clever."

OOO

Vash couldn't be sure his brother knew the ships had landed, but he could fairly safely assume he did.

The ships touched down with little sound or disturbance of land beside a great rushing wind. The population, however, boomed. In their celebration, thousands fired guns into the air, hooted and hollered, drank and sang, and generally very loudly marked the occasion. Most bars and brewers were giving away their wares at a discount, as were whorehouses. This was a time of great confusion, much uncertainty, and no small amount of fear of the unknown.

More powerful than those concerns was the great wash of hope. Never had the people of this planet felt something so wonderful as the hope of a life not daily-centered upon survival. Men elsewhere, on other planets, they were comfortable and safe. Every other man out there was living like a king. Soon, they would as well.

For two solid days after touchdown, the population of Gunsmoke gathered, swelled, and celebrated. They surged moreso to the city, bursting the established borders with a hodge-podge of refugee campgrounds. The murder rate plummeted, as the giddiness of the moment caused many to forget what low and dirty scum they were. A non-stop party such as this was an uplifting thing and every man, woman, and child felt inherently more good a person to be a part of it.

Vanessa was so tense in the din of noise she could hardly sleep. Vash could hardly sleep either, but for him it was more excitement than fear. He wished he could join the fray outside in their merriment. What joy he heard outside! But he had responsibilities, duties, and guilts which held him indoors.

He felt with certainty that Knives knew the ships had arrived. Knives said nothing. Since the touchdown, Knives communicated not a thing telepathically. Vash kept him on the same regiment of medication, and knew his brother was conscious. This meant Knives chose to be silent, and Vash did his best to consider that a blessing.

In fact, there were moments, hours at a time where Vash forgot about his brother entirely and blissfully held Vanessa in his arms. She did them both the favor of not bringing up the man in the next room or asking any questions about his medication. He assured her everything would be wonderful, that he would keep her safe, that she meant so much to him and things would be so much better one day. They lay in bed talking, resting, exploring one another most of those two days. In many ways, Vash considered them to be two of the most simply pleasant days of his life. These were relatively uncomplicated days. It was boring in the best way, and he savored every moment.

In the wee morning hours of day three, exhaustion began to set in about the city. The non-stop celebrating took a lot out of people and December calmed down as a whole once the thousands surrendered to slumber. By first-noon, Vash was cheerily preparing a lunch of root vegetables and canned chicken at the stovetop. He found himself glancing over his shoulder, over and up toward the door. His thoughts were on his friends, whom he hoped he would see again, soon. Yes, he assured himself, soon it would be fine for him to have more people in his life than only Vanessa, and shortly thereafter he dared hope he would be less a brother's company as well. Like all of December, he was unsure of the future but brimming with hope all the same.


	39. Inevitable

Vash emerged from the little room and turned to lock it tight. He stepped closer to her and kept his voice low. "I'll be just a minute. The girls are meeting Luida's group at the border land soon, and-"

"You could go with them, if you want to." Vanessa gazed out at the fuzzy form of him. "You just injected him; you've nothing to worry about."

Thinking of her fear during the touchdown celebration, he admired the bravery he knew it took her to think of being isolated in the basement apartment for what would be most of the day. He admired it, and appreciated it enough to want to leap at the chance. Nevertheless, he wondered if she may regret her suggestion and he offered her an out. "It's boring down here all alone, isn't it?"

"It's not an unfamiliar feeling."

He tugged on his jacket. Smiling, he cupped her unmarred cheek in his hand tenderly and assured her,"I'll be back before it's time for bed, I promise."

Vanessa listened to his footsteps and to the closing of a door. She stood there, holding the back of the chair, listening to the sound of the water pipes and to the sound of her own breath. In her cave, she'd been alone in the dark for hours, days, weeks, and she had very little to entertain herself but the sound of the songs in her memories.

Running her hands along the chair, she once again memorized the rolls and grooves and scratches as she sang to herself. Occasionally, she had to stop to try to remember a lyric, but she would burst out singing again as soon as she remembered. She stepped carefully around the chair, around the table, singing. Her voice tested the acoustics of the basement room, and she worked her way over to sit on the bed and sing into the darkness.

As she often did, when Vash stepped out for a time, she lost herself in the songs she recalled from the plant complex she was born in. It was a frightening place, when she was unsure how much longer she'd be allowed to live, but the music she'd heard there was beautiful and haunting. She remembered so many songs so clearly.

Vanessa's song was cut abruptly and she felt the wind knocked from her.

She pulled air back into her lungs, looking around as well as she could with her poor vision, desperate to know what had happened. There was no obvious answer, and perhaps no visual clue at all.

Her stomach dropped and her head began to swim. She recognized the pain, the feeling. Groping for the bedside table, she silently slid open a drawer and drew out items in haste.

She stared at the door while she positioned the syringe correctly in her hand. She didn't need to look to see what she was doing; it wouldn't have helped. Her broken eyes never left the door, and she snuck quietly toward the doorframe, willing her breath even and her stomach calm. It was everything she could do not to dash to a dark corner and hide. But Vash wouldn't hide. She had to do what she could, for the humans, for Vash. There would be nowhere to hide, in the long run.

After what seemed an eternity, she heard a very soft thud against the other side of the door. Dull pain caused her knees to buckle, and only the wall kept her from falling. Again, silence, and there was no more pain.

The door swung ever so slightly open.

Vanessa swallowed, and held her breath. She flattened herself against the wall, gripping the syringe so tightly she feared to break it. The door opened another foot and the stagnant air of the room hit her, the smell so much like a hospice ward. He stepped into her hazy view. She lunged.

Knives swatted at her hand, hard enough to dislodge the syringe and send it to shatter on the far wall. Her throat felt delicate and ridiculously fragile in his grip. He reveled in the cool, fresh air of the main room against his nude skin. Seething anger rose up in him, demanding vengeance.

Vanessa's head tilted back, her eyes tightly shut as she tugged at his hand. Her tongue clicked wet against her jaw as her attempts to take in breath failed. The muscles in his legs ached to support him, his arm and hand burned to be tensed so tightly about her neck, yet he took her breathless moment to inventory the look of her. Black-stitched scars ran along her eyes, nose, cheek like the long tracks of a man running through sand. The coarse metal thread scratched his palm. He held the doorframe to steady himself and let his grip on her throat loosen slightly. It was too difficult to see what he'd done to her; he looked away from it. "Go. Sit in the chair."

She gasped in and coughed, fingers hooked around his grip. "Don't-"

"In the chair." He lead her by the neck into the dank little room, over to the leather-padded tattooist chair. Knives tugged the sheet from it, and edged her back. Struggling to keep his balance, he watched in the low light for her to feel for the seat, to settle into it. His hand opened and sank to flatten against the meeting of her neck and collarbone, which he pushed against and downward. "Buckle yourself down."

Vanessa felt for what he was speaking of, and found heavy leather straps hanging loose on either side of the arm rest, the seat, the leg rests. Her limited vision told her he was unclothed, and her gut told her she was in very, very deep trouble. The acrid smell of the chair offended her nose, adding to her fear. "We didn't-"

"Don't speak," he snapped, pressing two fingers to her lips to seal off her words, "Buckle them." He leaned back and let his arms drop to his sides.

She did as told, with trembling fingers, fastening some but not all. It was enough to restrict her movement almost entirely, and ended with buckling one wrist. He tore away the severed remains of the free wrist's strap, and tied her arm to it with the edge of the sheet from the floor.

Knives stared down at her, prone in the pose he'd been captive in for too long. There wasn't a moment to waste. He was running almost purely on adrenaline, and that was sapped some by the sight of her. Hurrying out, he shut the door and dressed himself.

Left in the dark, Vanessa didn't sing. The water pipes continued to rattle, though seeming quieter now as her frightened, panting breaths and pounding heart drowned out most of the usual sound of the place. She breathed in a sweat-and-cleaning-solvent smell from the leather cushions and listened for the sound of their main door clicking shut. Given nothing else to do, she was still, and waited.

OOO

Vash came sweating, defeated, back into their basement home. "Without a trace."

"It's going to be alright."

He fell onto the bed beside her and pawed at his hair in frustration. "The murderer's loose and he's angry. Sure. It'll be alright..."

Vanessa leaned back on her palm to face him. "He wasn't that angry. He barely had the strength to cut one leather strap, and one deadbolt," she explained. "That illustrates the atrophy, not to mention the withdrawal he'll experience. And don't forget how little time he has, to do anything, once he recovers."

Vash growled and bowed his head over his knees. "How many people are going to die this time?"

Hugging her legs to her chest, Vanessa searched for an answer to that. She cleared her throat. "I tried to stop him."

He sighed. "I know. I should've left you my gun."

"Because I'm a sure-shot. Huh. I'll say it if you won't – I let him get away. He was shaking to stand, I should've-"

"Vanessa, stop it."

She shook her head, smiling sadly. "I was singing."

"Singing? So, what?" he asked.

"I have a habit of singing to myself when I'm alone. That was his cue."

Vash rubbed his forehead. "I shouldn't have left."

She laughed. "Now you can leave whenever you want, at least. I mean, you don't have to hurry back to sedate him anymore, and there are all of these humans here, you want to reunite with..."

"I do, but at what expense?"

"None, maybe." Vanessa shrugged. "Did you send out instructions on what to do now that he's free? Let's not let all of this go to waste," she added, gesturing at her cuts.

"I told them. If they can't find him either, at least we have a defense for the things he had planned." He put his arm around her. So, his brother escaped – what could he do? What would he even attempt to do, given he hadn't harmed Vanessa at all, and that was something he could hardly believe. "Maybe it will be alright; I'm just worried. He must hate me for keeping him in that chair. I'm so thankful he didn't hurt you."

She supposed her neck wasn't showing any bruising. "On the bright side, we have the place to ourselves. You can share your time before launch with your human friends and me, and whatever else you want. Think of yourself as free."

His hand wound around her waist. "I won't feel free till we break atmosphere."

"Well, enjoy your time as much as you can. I plan to."

"Does this mean you'll come out to meet everyone?" he asked hopefully.

Touching the stitching along the side of her chin, she frowned. "We enjoy time differently. I like being alone. Or with you. I'll leave it at that."

He rested his head against hers. It didn't make sense, but he respected her introversion. In truth, his mind was already abuzz with plans to spend time with the plethora of friends he had the chance to see again. The landing of the ships was a great celebration, and he had many, many friends to celebrate with – more than he had dreamed. That, and he wouldn't miss medicating and cleaning up his brother. "There are a lot of people I'd like to see," he admitted.

Her fingers fidgeted as they hovered above her chest. "I wish I could find more productive...more _rewarding _ways to pass the time_."_ After a moment, she explained further. "I can't use designs, to fight or to heal. I can't practice medicine. I can't even sew enough to replace the sleeves he tore off my dresses. I barely function for daily chores..."

"You're not useless, Vanessa," he nuzzled against the hair at her neck. "I'll bring you to the meetings with Luida. You can be our expert criminal profiler."

"If you think it'll help, but I told you everything important already."

"You'll be able to correct us about the most important thing – the way his mind works. I've never been able to really do that."

She stared at the hazy gray of the ceiling. "When do we meet."

Vash sighed and sat up, leaning over his boots. "Given this...recent development? Tonight."

Vanessa swallowed. She wished it weren't so soon.


	40. Conference

"Vanessa, how good to see you again, my dear," Sensei greeted them warmly. He took her arm in the crook of his, as well as he could given he was so very much shorter, and patted her wrist. "And how good to see you in better health than last we met."

She smiled in his direction, letting him lead her across an odd carpeted floor. Vash stepped away from them, toward voices she'd never heard before. She heard many, many others about them. It must be a large room – possibly domed – from the sound of it a common area for the humans on this old ship. "Kind of you to say," she replied, "And yourself?"

"Oh, quite well, quite well. I'm planning a cruise to this lovely place called Earth, I hear it's wonderful this time of year." He patted her arm again, chuckling. "Enough about me, would you care to meet our plant, by which I mean our tree, of course?" He chuckled again, muttering, "Forgive me, I tell terrible jokes."

"A tree," she parroted softly. Blotches of color defined themselves little as she came closer to the towering object, a non-uniform shape with a blob of pale brown for a base and splotches of differing greens stretching upward and outward like fountain spray. As he led her gradually toward it, she glanced down at the green carpet and around the blurry dome. "Grass..."

"Just so, my dear."

Vanessa stooped and unbuckled her boots. She pinched the shafts of her boots together in her hand and spread her bare toes into the soft, tickling surface. "Ha ha!"

Sensei beamed. "Vash was sure you would like it."

Shuffling her feet along the almost hairy floor, she moved closer to the tree Sensei claimed was ahead, hardly aware she was smiling. Her toe stubbed against what she assumed an exposed root. It hurt, sure, but a tree! Her palms awkwardly found the trunk, the bark. She leaned in so her nose grazed its rough skin and she narrowed her eyes till she could see little flecks and wrinkles.

"I've always loved the leaves."

Vanessa felt Vash's fingers press a slick, cool surface against her palm. When she tilted her head toward him, against the bark, the loose hair framing her face fell against her cheek and stuck on the rough, dark stitches. She held the leaf close to her eyes. "You didn't pick it, did you-"

"No, no; they fall sometimes. You're standing on some."

"Vash, why do these people want to leave this place?" she asked a bit too loudly.

He rubbed at his hair. "Well, this room's the best place on this ship. Nothing else comes close, and the people who live here don't have easy lives. By all accounts, there are enough trees on Earth, they're taken for granted, girls don't molest them...often."

Sensei exchanged a laugh with him. "Enjoy it a bit more. Come by Medical shortly and I'd be happy to remove those sutures. I'd wager they're ripe for removal, would leave you more comfortable for your meeting, hmm?"

Vanessa had nearly forgotten why she was there. "I doubt anything will make me comfortable for _this_ meeting. No offense meant."

"None taken. I understand. I'm familiar with the topic at hand and haven't the stomach for it tonight. This is brave of you, if I'm not mistaken."

"Very," Vash agreed, frowning.

OOO

"Ridiculous," Governor Haskle sputtered finally. "You propose a horrible waste of resources. Tragic. The warheads are vital to our defense."

Vanessa stared blankly across the room. "Defense would be impossible; disarm them or they'll be used to destroy you."

Slapping his fist against his palm, Colonel Yao shouted once more, "Foregoing half our military force, to secure unneeded plant complexes, is completely unacceptable!"

"I want to hear the actual superpowers of this 'Knives' character again!" a red-faced man in the back called out, jumping to his feet.

"Gentlemen," Luida spoke up in her calm, authoritative manner, "Gentlemen, let's keep this civil. If ordinary methods of military defense were sufficient, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"_She_ wouldn't be here," someone muttered.

"We _shouldn't_ be having this conversation," Haskle announced, brushing at his lapel. "This is pure fantasy. No individual is _that_ dangerous."

"You have no idea how-" Vanessa began with a turn of her head. As her hair brushed past her cheek it unveiled the bright pink valleys of her newly-bare scars.

"Well, if we get in his _face_ he might _cut_ us," the red-faced man said with a chuckle.

"We have decades of documentation to support our claims," Luida argued.

"He's capable of..._horrible_ things," Vash added, hushed.

Yao waved an arm at Vanessa, who couldn't see the gesture but for a blur of movement in her peripheral. "Seems the old man's gotten sloppy over the years. _She's_ still alive."

"And if she'd stolen such valuable information from him you'd think he would've...Well." Haskle agreed.

"We're being asked to place a great deal of faith in intel of questionable authenticity," a stern looking young woman concurred, pushing her glasses up her nose.

"Here, here, Ms. King."

"It's the truth," Vanessa muttered.

Vash gazed out at the gathered group and narrowed his eyes. "It seems impossible. But we're not human. There are things about us that are very hard to believe, but _believe_ _me_ – we are capable of sharing each other's memories and thoughts. She saw his intentions, and she's telling the truth."

"Vash, you we believe. You can hardly blame us for being skeptical of someone we've only just met. Hell, _you've_ only just met her. She spent more time doing God-knows-what with that madman than _you've_ known her."

Governor Haskle nodded at life-long ship-dweller George Haan, though he hadn't as much belief in Vash, himself. "These things we're asked to do, these great risks – they'd be difficult to swallow even if there _was_ a reason for us to believe this woman. What _incentive_ does a non-human in her position have, to be as honest and helpful as she claims? Can't even look her in the eye to judge the truth for yourself..."

"That's uncalled for," Vash responded, as calm as he could. "We want you to survive. That's all this is about."

"Words," Haskle lamented, shaking his head.

"Guarding the plant complexes would be too great a strain on forces," Yao repeated, his angry voice echoing against the metal hollow of the old ship's conference room. "Discipline is already a serious concern, to command soldiers to guard now-obsolete buildings without a logical reason? We risk weakening command."

Ms. King drew a finger through the air excitedly. "If we simply _retired_ the remaining plants, we'd resolve _that_ issue more efficiently."

"Murder his sisters, and there's nothing I can tell you that'll save your lives," Vanessa interrupted sharply, tipping her head up against the light enough for those gathered to get a better look at her scars and the reddening of her cheeks.

"Or maybe that's _exactly_ what we _should_ do!" The red faced man clapped his hands together. "She's only here to divert us from the real problems! He's brainwashed her. She's not to be trusted. She only wants us to fail."

"You know nothing about him," Vanessa growled, "And you know _less_ about _me_."

"Isn't that the problem?" Yao scoffed.

"What do _you_ have to lose, if he wins?"

"Stands to be rewarded, once she leads us to our doom."

"...let him, no, _helped_ him escape..."

"Queen of the Plant People."

Snickering broke out on the left of the room, and Luida had to clear her throat loudly several times before it died down any.

"Very clever of this Knives person."

"Gentlemen..."

Yao slammed his fist against his palm. "I want her out of this room and _then_ we can to discuss the _real_ plan of action."

"Vanessa's advice is the best plan of action we'll ever have," Vash announced, still maintaining his calm. "Hear her out."

"She's a spy, Vash," George replied, with a sympathetic tone.

"Those slash marks were a nice touch, to make us fall for it, follow her instruction," King reflected over her lenses.

"Give me 30 minutes in a room with her, I can get some valuable info out of her-"

"Gentlemen!"

"There _are _nogentlemen in this room!" Vanessa shouted.

"Luida, I'll just write everything down for your review and we'll try this again later," Vash muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"There won't be a _later_," Vanessa grumbled, folding her arms about herself, "if these fools don't have an ear for me now."

At the mention, several of those present let their gaze dart to her pointed ears, in spite of themselves.

"Miss, I don't believe you can _invent_ a reason rational enough for your story to hold," Haskle challenged. "If he attained the upper hand, your kind, you yourself, have too much to gain."

"There's _nothing_ to gain in that," she snapped. "If he wins, you will die. You'll die quick and instant and probably painless. It'll be over before you knew there was trouble."

The red faced man coughed. Several rolled their eyes, and several nodded slightly but thought she was more stating the obvious than anything.

"If he wins, you'll be the lucky ones."

Yao roared in frustration. "This is classic manipulation! Next she'll tell us how her death will be slower and more painful, blah blah."

"Don't be dense! He's not going to kill me. He won't let me die. We're timeless and rare and I'm the only sentient female, so...he..." She stopped and cleared her throat quietly. "I'll call you the lucky ones because you got to go fast and quiet, and you got to keep your dignity and your sanity. I'm trying desperately to give you everything you need to know; what obstacles to throw in his path. If you don't start listening to me, I'm going to have to figure out a good way to kill myself, for the day you fail, and pray I get the chance to do it."

The room was still and quiet. Eyes averted from the scarred woman; her voice had been broken with emotion, and as she sat there, catching her breath, she trembled subtly. Vash made a move to comfort her, hesitated. When his hand finally touched her shoulder, she jerked away. That involuntary reaction seemed to punctuate what many were thinking, and as Vash's hand finally found acceptance atop her knee, Luida scanned the room.

"I trust we're through bickering and doubting," she announced. "I, for one, hope we can deploy men to the plant complexes by the end of the week."

"Sooner than that," Vanessa spoke up, rubbing her hand over her face. "He may be in a hurry to absorb his sisters, in his weakened state."

Luida nodded. "How soon can we have this done, Colonel Yao?"

"Consider how this will weaken-"

"How soon, Yao?" the red-faced man interrupted.


	41. Fraying Loose Ends

"I ask one thing," Brad called out, loud enough that the cringing crowd could hear. "I want to know the names of the man and woman who killed me!"

The handsome blonde man laughed and pulled his buxom companion close. The rifle barrel pressed against Brad's chest shook with the laughter. "I grant you that! I am Cinder, and this is Ember."

Brad glared back at them, keeping his hands out, empty, still, waiting.

"Oh, God, it's Vash the Stampede's kids, in the flesh!" someone in the crowd cried out. "We should give them all our money so they don't kill us, too!"

"Yeah!" the busty woman called out, twirling some of her bleached hair around the barrel of her pistol. "That's right and you all better hurry, or you're next!"

Upon Ember's nod, several of their masked thugs moved closer to the crowd.

"Sure, why not," Cinder muttered under his breath, raising his voice to yell, "Run and we'll hunt you down! Drop your jewelry and money or you lose your guts like this guy." His finger pressed against the trigger of his rifle and Brad flinched.

A boom rang out, causing a few in the crowd to involuntarily shriek.

Brad opened one eye to see his potential killers collapse, groaning, onto the rooftop beside him. He rose and kicked their guns away. Below, he noticed the few armed thugs closest to the crowd laid groaning in the dust.

"Get 'em!" the anonymous voice in the crowd encouraged.

All was silent for a moment, then the righteous roar of the crowd burst out. They raced around the back of the apartment building, tackling the rest of the small group of thugs who'd accompanied Cinder and Ember before the goons could get away.

Three of Brad's fellow Ship Deputies climbed to the rooftop quickly, and they hoisted 'Vash's kids' in their arms to keep them from the mob.

"Take 'em to that fancy prison on one of those Earth ships," the anonymous trouble-maker insisted, discretely holstering a smoking Colt.

"That was too close."

"Not by a long shot," Vash replied, smiling. "Now that whole thing about Stampede Kids can go away; one less complication in making the emigration run smoothly. This went a whole lot better than expected. Perfect, assuming your men get them to the authorities."

"Don't doubt they will." Brad wiped sweat from his brow, and followed Vash down a fire-escape. "Of course, this and the other peace-keeping we've been doing would be a hell of a lot easier with those fancy Earth guards helping out."

Vash shrugged. "They have ships to watch. It's just as well, that there are men and women dedicated to ensuring nobody fools with their vessels. Makes me feel better, knowing if he tries anything they'd probably notice."

Brad stepped off the lower rung, into the dust. The two men walked away from the building and resumed their survey of this edge of town. "So, we think he isn't stalking around the ships. Same for our ship, no sightings. Good to post guards where you most want something protected,. Or some_one, _you know. Luida, guarded. The Gung Ho Guns we still have prisoner, guarded. Seems like we're forgetting someone, though..."

"I appreciate your concern, Brad, but-"

"But what? Why isn't it worth it, to post guards with the one person he's most likely to snatch up?"

"Because they couldn't help."

"Why-"

"Because either he never approaches her so they're wasting their time, or he does and they die. They'd just die, simple as that. Either he leaves her be, or he takes her. A few guards couldn't make a stand against him."

Brad stared at a stray dog tugging something stringy from a pile of trash. "Okay. I get it. But, they _could_ protect Vanessa from any of these other random jerks, you know?"

Vash shook his head. "I think the same thing, when I leave her alone there. She'd rather be alone than scared that the men posted for her safety weren't as trustworthy as we'd thought."

"That's silly, they'd be hand-picked, they'd never-"

"I know, Brad. I believe you. She wouldn't. She can't. Just...just trust that she has good reasons."

Kicking a rock, Brad watched it skip and spin till it stuck in the dirt ahead of them. "What's the good reason not to come out for drinks with us tonight? Or, any of these nights, for that matter?"

"She doesn't drink."

He snorted. "So? She can still come and enjoy herself, and under your protection, you know, that ought to make her comfortable, right? Meeting some of the folks you'll be spending the long trip with, that seems like a real good reason to come-with."

With a weak smile, Vash shook his head. "That'd be nice. Maybe one of these nights she'll want to come. It's kind of you to worry about her."

Brad shrugged. "She must be worth worrying about, if you care about her so much. Too bad Jessica and I aren't on the same ship-block as you."

"We'll all reunite, don't worry. If I get to go, too, we'll be plenty of time, on Earth."

"Oh, lose your 'if's, you know; you're _going_." Brad crossed his arms.

"I will if I can," Vash assured.

"You will. We're going, he's not going to stop us-"

"He's not going to stop the _ships_, one way or another."

They walked in silence the next few blocks, passing a number of inebriated fellows and ladies, children out past bedtime, and a shifty-eyed teen who skittered off before they got a good look. Once they reached the edge of town they turned down another street and commenced their sweep.

Though typically a man of few words, Brad found Vash's lack of conversation somewhat discomforting, so cleared his throat and asked, "Let's say we see him on the street tonight. What do we do?"

"Well, first, you leave. No offense, I just..."

"None taken. I get it."

"Okay. Thank you. Second, I lead him out of town, as far as I can manage. Third, I finish things."

He zipped his jacket up a couple of inches higher, to ward off the evening chill. "You'd kill him."

Vash rubbed at the back of his head. "I don't know."

"Have you tried killing him, before?" Brad sighed into the sky. "That was rude, you know. I just mean, after all this, part of you wants to kill him."

"Yeah. Of course," Vash glanced over at his friend and furrowed his brow. "It'd be better if I did, wouldn't it?" He pulled out his Colt and set it beside his chin. His gaze drifted away from Brad's as he remembered. "I put this to his head in May but I couldn't pull the trigger."

"God, Vash." Brad took a deep breath. "What kept you?"

The Colt went back to its holster. "I would have killed him if she hadn't been there."

"You're kidding, she didn't want him dead?"

"Oh, I imagine she does. It's just...She knows the way I chose to lead my life. She knows I believe ending a life is the worst choice to make, and she refused to let me give up."

They shuffled along, largely ignored by the people they passed. "I hope this ends the way you want it to, Vash."

"So long as everyone leaves alive. That's what I want. And..." He gripped Brad's shoulder. "And I want her on those ships, too."

Brad nodded. They'd talked about it all too often. He'd heard Vash have the same conversation with Meryl, Millie, and several other of his most trusted friends. Just about every night at the bar he was reiterating the importance of his request to one or the other of them. "Sensei and I, all of us, we'll do everything in our power to get her on a ship." They would if Vash weren't around to do it, Brad left understood.

"She won't cooperate."

"I know. She won't be the only one upset if you don't board," he muttered.

Vash's fingers tightened on the shoulder of his coat momentarily, till he let his arm drop back to his side, and he asked, "You'd do whatever it took to make her?"

"I don't want to. I've said it before, it's _wrong_...but if it were me, I'd want the same thing for Jessica."

He rubbed at the back of his head again. "She's going to try to run, or fight, or somebody's going to have to hurt her, I don't know. It won't be pretty. She's going to hate you for it. Hate me for it."

"...But it's worth it because she'll be safe," Brad finished.

He nodded. "Thank you for understanding." His boots drug in the dirt a bit too much and it took a long moment for him to add, "I just hope you'll all forgive me for not being around, if that's what happens."

"Vash, if we leave this rock alive, I promise you we won't forget who saved us. I'd rather share a drink with you on Earth than have to forgive you not coming, so do _me _a favor and win this."

"One day at a time." He nodded to an old man through an open window as he walked past. "As for tonight, we'll drink till we're sick."

Brad clapped him on the back. "You're buying."


End file.
